


Criminal Sin-Tent

by Nonpai, Psychic_Possession



Category: Miraculous Ladybug
Genre: Art Theft, Chat you Tease, Criminal SINtent, F/M, Marichat, Miraculous Ladybug - Freeform, This is just silly, Why Does This Exist, adrien agreste - Freeform, marinette dupain cheng - Freeform, our sense of humor is fucking trash, sin - Freeform, we're punloving memelords tbh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2017-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-31 15:52:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6476464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nonpai/pseuds/Nonpai, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Psychic_Possession/pseuds/Psychic_Possession
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the daytime, Marinette is a fashion designing apprentice to Gabriel Agreste. Her model is Adrien, a quiet boy often compared to flawless works of art.<br/>By night, however, Marinette has to stop infamous hero-turned-thief Chat Noir as Ladybug.<br/>Is art appreciation defined by words or actions?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Purr-fect Bug-inning

**Author's Note:**

> Chat's a thief, Ladybug has a thirst that can't be quenched, Adrien is still dealing with crippling loneliness, Marinette is still clueless. [These babies also suffer from having their crushes reversed. Chat is still a flirt to Ladybug, she's a mess around him, Adrien is hopelessly infatuated with Marinette, who has eyes for a thief that managed to steal her heart. Grand.]  
> This universe is a train wreck.
> 
> Expect more trash to come. [Eventually!]  
> [Non's tumblr, Nonchan-art, has plenty of her drawings for the au!]

The golden lights of the city shined against the deep navy of the sky above. A cool breeze swept along the the rooftops of the buildings, rustling Ladybug's hair. She looked down at the empty streets hoping to see something other than the occasional car or stray cat. Had someone told her patrols would consist of sitting around for hours on end, she would have declined. Why she kept doing it relied on a single variable; tall, mysterious, and a persona that was unlike any she'd met before. His charisma, whether it be jokes or sly banter, had her hooked on every word. The way his eyes seemed to always burn through her very being. She relished in his attention; he always left her wanting more, just a little more...

An impatient sigh started on her lips before a familiar sound woke her from her thoughts. The alarm.

Ladybug’s gaze snapped to the direction of the alarm. As she pulled her yoyo from its spot on her belt, she noticed a dark figure bouncing across the rooftops effortlessly."About time..." she mumbled to herself, taking a running jump from the edge of the building where she sat. Her yoyo latched onto a chimney, keeping her from meeting the pavement below. "Hey!" she called out. The figure stopped to look at her from the building she'd landed on.

"Well, well, well," he began in an amused tone, "If it isn't my favourite little lady." He crossed his arms, waiting for her to come close enough to give her the once over. "How are you this evening, Princess?" he purred.

"I'm not your 'Princess', Chat." Ladybug put her hands on her hips, glaring at him. In truth, the way he said princess made her weak -especially when he wasn't more than a few inches away.

"What trouble have you gotten into tonight?" she tried to make out whatever he had in his hand, but the dim lights coming from below offered nohelp.

"Hm?" he traced her curious stare to the object in his hand. "Oh, this? As you may have heard, the Louvre is recently short another faberge egg. Courtesy of yours truly." Chat's voice had a weightless edge to it; the pride behind his words were accentuated by the showy display of his newly acquired treasure. Bits of scattered light glimmered on the egg's gold plating, tossed around by the jewels along the surface.

Ladybug inched closer, not taking her eyes off of him. Chat moved his attention from admiring his handiwork tohis mischievous gaze on the super hero. Once she was within arms length, he side stepped to stand behind her. She turned on a heel to be met with his full height looming over her. She gasped softly, surprised by his sudden closeness.

"Do you like what you see?" his voice was low and husky, craving to be heard. Ladybug nodded. Her thoughts became cloudy as a smile tugged her lips."I thought so," Chat took a step forward, pressing the space between them into a single breath of air.

"Now, this'll stay between us, right?" He gently tapped her nose with a gloved hand.

"Yeah..." her voice sounded far off, as though she were drifting through a dream. A shock jolted her back, a few feet away from Chat. _'Focus! He's a criminal!'_ an internal chorus of Ladybugs yelled against her foggy brain. "No way! _That's_ going back to the museum," she drew her yoyo again, planting herself firmly on the rooftop, "and _you're_ going to the Paris authorities."

Chat snorted, a bemused grin spreading on his lips. "It's cute the way you think, my lady, but fantasies like that have no place here." With that he rushed past her, leaping to the next building with ease. Disoriented for a second, Ladybug took after him, using her yoyo to keep up with his pace.

How many times had this exact chase played out, along these very same rooftops, on clear nights like these? A clear map could almost be traced as to where Chat would lead her. It was always a dead end alley with a very convenient fire escape that she couldn't reach from the ground.

He was leading her straight to that alley. _'Not this time, kitty,'_ a smirk pulled at her lips as he jumped into the alley. His gloves caught the weathered bricks, slowing his descent enough to allow him a smooth landing on the street below. He stopped to breathe in the damp Paris air. He knew Ladybug would be there in a moment, staring him down with fiery eyes. Probably some retort about cat burgling. Then he'd give her a quick wink, leap up the fire escape, and salute her from the comfort of a roof's ledge. However, he never planned for her to sneak up behind him. A tap on his shoulder broke his train of thought.

 

"Missed me?" she asked before catching his wrist. "This is your dead end, Chat Noir!" She used her free hand to reach for her communicator. _'The chief will finally hear some good news,'_ the triumph elated her; so many failed attempts at apprehending Chat would be made up ten fold in one call.

Chat looked once at her hand on his wrist, and once at her communicator. _'Here I thought I wouldn't have to do this tonight...'_ He slipped the egg into a pocket along his belt and took a deep breath. "Ladybug," she turned away from the busy line, looking up at him. The first mistake of the night. Chat leaned down close, resting his forehead against hers. A shiver ran down her spine, but her grip only seemed to tighten. "We don't need to involve the authorities, do we?" He pulled back in a second for her to react. A flush crawled from under her mask and spread across the bridge of her nose. He used his free hand to cup her chin. The communicator lowered to her side. Chat leaned in close enough for their breaths to mingle. "If I'm in jail, who will take care of you, my lady?" he way he purred out those two words: _'My Lady'_ ; his own way of showing they were tied in a more complicated relationship than cat burglar and hero mouse.

"I...I don't know..." her voice was barely above a whisper. Ladybug's heart slammed against her chest, ringing in her ears. She ached to close the gap between them, to be held in his warm embrace. That desire was enough to distract her eyes. The second mistake of the night.

Chat yanked his wrist back, pulling Ladybug along into his chest. Her burning cheeks met the cool material of his suit, and the cold metal of his zipper. A hand slipped to the small of her back. He put a leg between her own, leaning forward until she was trapped in a dip. _'A French Dip, no less.'_ He grinned down at her.

"Then I'll take on the role, unless-" he gave her an inquisitive look,"-you'd prefer someone else?" Ladybug shook her head. The third mistake of the night. Those green eyes had a hungrier spark to them now as his grin became a smirk. "Thought not."

Without letting her catch her breath, he raised back up and bounded into the fire escape.  Ladybug stared at the bricks before her, all feeling in her knees dissipating and her heart racing. _'He was so close...wow...'_ She looked at the communicator in her hand. The operator was livid, words garbled within the static of the radio signal. She looked to the call length; three minutes and fifty-seven seconds. “Oh.” Her eyes widened as the reality of the situation hit her full force.

"Oh crap!" she brought the communicator to her ear. The operator was going off at an alarming speed, raving about 'how unfunny it is for you to call when you're doing that.' Ladybug quickly hung up, shame crawling onto her cheeks. _'Chat got away again...'_ she dragged a hand along her face, annoyed above all else. _'How does this keep happening to me?'_ Ladybug let out a breath; it would be absolute hell to face the chief after this, and even worse to explain why Chat Noir escaped when she had him right there.

She drew her yoyo again and took off towards home. The breeze cooled the remnants of blush from her cheeks. Tikki wouldn't be happy about this; the poor thing would be disappointed. _'For once, can't he play fair?'_

Ladybug crawled into her bed, releasing her transformation to be tired Marinette.

 

* * *

 

"Gabriel Agreste: world famous fashion designer, and proud father of young model, Adrien Agreste," the anchorwoman was rather chipper this morning, near to singing the words she spoke. "The designing extraordinaire and his apprentice are in the process of making next month's fashion show a reality."

 

Adrien glanced at the television over a shoulder as he dried the last water droplets from his damp hair. His face plastered alongside his father's was sickening. _'I wish they wouldn't do that...'_ he thought, closing the last few buttons on his shirt. The very thought of having another high profile fashion show in a month was dreadful. Planning, rehearsals, fittings, endless meetings; those were all things he wished could magically be finished in the blink of an eye. However, the bleak reality of the situation was that his father would be imposing on every second between now and that show.

 

"Even the reporter seems to think you're Monsieur Perfect," a voice lulled from Adrien's bed. The tiny black cat stretched out, back arched in a pleased manner. Adrien snorted in reply. "She gets paid to say that, you know I'm joking," the cat padded over to him, hopping on the television to be at eye level with the boy.

 

"I wish they wouldn't do that," he mumbled, turning his attention to the home phone. He'd turned the ringer off so it wouldn't bother him during the night, but now saw someone was trying to reach him. The familiar glow of the caller ID in the early morning hours was usually an annoyance, until he read the pixelated name attached. Marinette-Cellular. Adrien grabbed the receiver between giddy hands. If anything would raise his mood so quickly, it would be a call from the young lady.

"Hello!" his voice was bright, full of life.

 

"Hey, I'm going to be a little late, please tell Mr. Agreste," she sounded out of breath, the sounds of the bustling city in the background of her call. "The metro is running behind- _Ah!_ " a loud thud followed by a muffled apology was heard around the static. "Okay bye!" the end tone brought Adrien back to the emptiness of his bedroom.

 

"Wow, one word in-that's gotta be a new record," Plagg teased from his perch on the television's edge. His emerald eyes were trained on Adrien's form.

 

"Being this cynical can't be good for cats, you know," he shot back jokingly. "Besides, one word is all I need for her," his tone was lofty, Adrien's mind was off in some day dream world with Marinette, drinking tea and eating cakes in a private garden. No matter how much he stumbled over his words or fumbled with his hands, Marinette smiled and kept on. That innocent friendship that he craved so desperately was fulfilled by the smallest of gestures: fixing his shirt buttons, carefully taking his measurements, accepting his offers for a coffee break.

 

"Maybe for regular cats," Plagg nodded, taking his attention to the window. "I, however, am driven by my snide."

 

Adrien rolled his eyes with a snort. The familiar he was "gifted" with wasn't like those pets described in fantasy novels. In truth, Plagg treated Adrien like the pet, scolding him for being an idiot, reminding him to eat on a regular schedule, rewarding him with 'good human's and light pats. Did it bother him to be bossed around by a cat? Sure. Did he really want someone else watching over him? Not really.

His eyes trailed over the clock screensaver on his monitor. The meeting with Marinette and his father was in less than an hour. In the haze of their banter, Adrien had lost track of his morning routine, and found himself scrambling to put together his bag. Based on the time alone, his breakfast would be cut short by his father or the clock. He slipped a quick look in the mirror before heading out of his bedroom. He looked sloppy. Presentable, but still much more unkempt than usual.

 

The table in the dining hall was set for a model's breakfast: an egg white omelet, whole grain toast, a cornucopia of fresh fruits, and a tall glass of milk. An unseen wall clock's ticks echoing through the hall were the only company he had with this lonely meal. Normally, Mr. Agreste would be on the other side of that endless table, sketching or reading the news, occasionally glancing at Adrien with a question. That was when Adrien wasn't bickering aimlessly with a certain black cat. Now, he'd have to enjoy the company of his cell phone.

 

_'I wonder if she'll get there alright...'_ his mind wandered back to Marinette. How did that always happen? Either way, the way their phone call ended bothered him. She took the metro to and from the studio -- that much didn't worry him -- what did worry him was the background noise. A few muffled apologies, that thud. He tried to picture her just running into someone, putting on a sheepish grin and making her way to the metro, but imagining her tripping down the last few steps nagged at his thoughts. He brushed them away with a shake of his blond mess. _'If she wasn't okay, she wouldn't have sounded so calm.'_ Adrien took a long drink from his glass to reassure himself, as if milk would keep Marinette safe.

 

* * *

 

Marinette rushed through her smoothie and bagel, her fingers typing out an apology text to Mr. Agreste. She'd be late for their meeting about her next assignment. Being romanced by Chat Noir late into the night cut her sleep in the morning, which left her feeling disoriented and hazy. The butterflies from their meeting still fluttered in her stomach. A craving to be held by him, to be confirmed as his, filled in a brief encounter under a full moon. It was everything she could have wanted and more. She replayed that scene in her mind all the way to the studio, ignoring the doughy squish of her bagel or the kiwi chunks in her smoothie. Once the subway reached her stop, her brain switched from day dream to work. Mr. Agreste couldn't stand daydreaming, especially from his apprentice.

A gleaming office building stood before her; the Gabriel Agreste logo carefully standing above the front doors. Frigid metal and glass being warmed under the rising sun was an amazing contrast she couldn’t ignore. Every morning she witnessed the beauty of going to work, yet, it stole her breath every time. _‘Focus! Work!’_ the tiny voice chirped again, pulling Marinette back to reality. Had she been on time, staring at the pink reflections of the sunrise on the highest windows wouldn’t have to be cut short, but she had time to make up for.

She let out an annoyed breath, a self-deprecating chorus pounding against her mind. _‘Mr. Agreste is waiting! Hurry up!’_. Behind the wide double doors at the front, a white marble floor mirrored the designer’s every step across the entrance. A few people worked the front desk, talking into ear pieces and typing mindlessly away at unseen keyboards. One glanced at Marinette, and stopped to tap their wrist with a disapproving glare. Late. Marinette gave a sheepish grin on her way past the desk. Of course she was late to one of the most important meetings of her life. That’s just how fate would want it for her.

Elevator buttons gleamed under her fingers, highlighting the chipped pink nail polish she so desperately wanted to fix. _‘You would have had time to, if you weren’t seeing that boy…’_ she scolded herself before taking a step into the elevator. Her own tired expression greeted her after the doors slid shut. Tired eyes were covered by a thin veil of makeup, lips curled in a disappointed frown, hair poorly done up in a braid. The image was nothing new to her, by now it was just boring. The elevator ride was smooth all the way to the top floor, the entirety of which housed Mr. Agreste’s office. She was hesitant to leave the comfort of the elevator, but if she wanted to keep her job, she’d need to face the truth head on.

Chunky heels against the spotless tiles leading to Gabriel’s office filled Marinette with dread. He was always very cool headed around her, but the thought of making the disappointed mentor side of his personality rear its head was enough to discourage her. The echoing of her steps only heightened her anxiety. _‘He’s not angry, don’t freak out,’_ she imagined Tikki’s little coos on her shoulder. She took a deep breath before opening the door to his office.

“Good morning?” The girl poked her head in, eyes crawling from the desk to the black leather office chair that spun around to meet her. His expression was the same it had always been: stoic. Marinette swallowed a lump in her throat. _‘He’s not angry, don’t freak out,’_ she repeated like a mantra as her mind raced, heart rate jumping from uneasy to thudding in a matter of seconds. _‘Okay, maybe freak out a little.’_

“G-Good morning, Mr. Agreste,” she repeated, finally entering the office fully.

“You’re late,” his words were blunt, much like the rest of his personality. “You know how busy my schedule is; I expect my appointments to be met with precise punctuality.” Gabriel rose from his chair, pushing up the bridge of his glasses.

“O-Of Course, my sincerest apologies, sir,” she trained her eyes on her own regretful expression reflected in the black tiles. “I will make it my duty to not be late again.” A worried grimace tugged at her sheepish attempt at a smile.

Gabriel shrugged her off, choosing to move his attention to the windows behind him. The morning’s last warm tones were fading into the clear blue sky.

“See that it doesn’t happen again, _Ms. Cheng_ ,” there was a cold edge in his tone as he said her name. “Now, to business, shall we?” The quick shift of mood, from scolding employer to collaborative mentor was harrowing, despite Marinette being exposed to it on a near daily basis, now. She gave him a quick nod in response.

“Very well. The obvious matter we need to discuss is your proficiency analysis next month at the collaborative fashion show. You are expected to design and create runway quality ensembles within the allotted time frame, incorporating this line’s theme of General Fashion which allows you plenty of artistic freedoms. Do not disappoint me, Ms. Cheng.”

Marinette tore her gaze from the floor to meet Mr. Agreste’s. Two shades of blue met in a tense stand off. The poor girl caved first, her eyes darting around. Gabriel simply returned to his chair, making a gesture for Marinette to sit in a chair before him.

“Now,” he began, “Here are the piece requirements.” A sleek folder containing the fine details of the fashion show was placed before her. She filed through the sheets, stopping at a few diagrams and occasionally glancing at Mr. Agreste. “I expect to see your finest work. You will, of course, be required to create an outfit for Adrien, as well as a female model of your choice. Feel free to direct me any questions that you have along the way."

* * *

 

An hour and half of questions later and Marinette was a few floors down in her private studio. Measuring tape in one hand, a pencil in the other, she took down Adrien’s dimensions. Her mind was off in the fashion designing zone, not focussed on the conversation he was trying to initiate. Quick fingers moved the tape across his limbs with lightning speed. A million little ideas stewed in her head. _‘General fashion, right,’_ she thought as the tape made it’s way across his shoulders. _‘Hmm, were they always this broad?’_ She took a second to admire his form, but brushed the thought away. _‘Focus Marinette, you’re over this.’_

“So, uh, how did the meeting go?” Adrien finally spoke, his nerves had grown weary of the silence between them.

“Huh? Oh. It went well, thanksh for ashking,” her reply was half mumbled around the pencil between her teeth, her mind still in the process of designing a fashion show worthy piece. Adrien gave her a smile, amused by her goofy mannerisms. “The theme ish really good; givesh me shome great ideas,” Marinette returned his smile as best she could. His heart thudded against his chest. The close proximity was making his inner workings short circuit. By some miracle just being near her whisked the air from his lungs, and turned his normally clear and focussed thoughts into a mismatched and jumbled mush.

He drew back a bit, a flush taking to his cheeks. “Th-That’s great! Your ideas are so original-not that you aren’t original-I mean!-Your ideas belong to you, so of course you’re original,” Adrien could feel his confidence failing him as the heat gathered in his face intensified. If only he knew when to shut his mouth around her. _‘Great job, Agreste, she knows you can see her originality,’_ Plagg’s voice mocked him. _‘Just...stop talking.’_

“Yeah, sure,” Marinette ignored his blabbering by focussing on taking his height measurement. Her arm barely reached the top of his golden hair. _‘This isn’t new…’_ her mind thought back to those days in college; she swooned over this boy, fawning over that height. Now she cursed it for making her job as a designer worse. What she saw in that perfect boy gnawed at her when daydreaming took over; what if she did go out with him? What if Chat wasn’t around to steal her affections? Would those feelings she threw away years ago come back?

“Uh...Marinette…?” Adrien broke in, pulling the girl back into reality. She barely took notice of what she was doing anymore. The measuring tape was still raised above their heads, but the gap between them was all but nonexistent. A deep flush was sprawled across Adrien’s cheeks, accentuated by his wide eyed expression. Marinette met his confused stare, taking a few seconds to realize the current situation was a little too friendly.

“Oh... _OH!_ ” She took a step back to regain the distance that was previously between them, training her eyes on the tape in her hand. ‘Did you even get his height?’ her thoughts moved away from her romantic issues, and returned to designer mode. _‘Whatever…’_ Marinette ran a hand through her bangs, an exasperated breath escaping her lips.

“I think we should take a break, want to talk about some of my designs over coffee?”


	2. Perch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Make a line of coke and get your alcohol out for a game of 'how many times did perch get used' because it's time for cracking some bullshit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Non is the best, she's written both of the chapters so far and I've only been editing, bless my precious Lady
> 
>  
> 
> We also need sleep

“I think we should take a break, want to talk about some of my designs over coffee?” Marinette took Adrien’s recomposed silence as a yes, and grabbed her phone from its home on her chair. One dispiriting look at the screen confirmed her fears: it was barely past 10 am, which meant concocting an excuse for her boss would take some rationalizing.

The morning was a haze of sunlight that was muted by the clouds it painted into shades of pink and orange. The Parisian streets below were bustling with life as the various members of society travelled to their various destinations. 

This was a routine by now. They made small talk as they made their way to the coffee shop, Marinette speaking about some of her simpler designs that didn’t necessarily require visual aid…. 

Marinette decided on a cafe tucked into a narrow side street; she favoured this particular nook for the soothing atmosphere and friendly staff. Better yet, being cut off from the crowded streets, it was ideal for a high profile celebrity or  _ local male model _ to grab a fresh scone or warm latte. The secluded nature of the shop meant pesky paparazzi and rabid fans would be left stalking the more populated businesses for a glimpse of any celebrity unfortunate enough to enter their sights.

Mom-and-Pop places felt like a home away from the bakery to Marinette as they allowed her to regain focus and composure. Adrien was capable of relaxing and didn’t have to worry about a sudden ambush from the newest reporter or next ‘Number One Fan.’ Of course, keeping Mr. Camera-Ready under such tight witness protection wasn't some stroke of unrealistically good luck, oh no, a certain fashion designer arranged for his most prized model and apprentice to be left alone. A few dollars here and a bodyguard with binoculars across the street were all it took. Although, that unrealistically good luck always helped sway things into their favor. 

When they ordered their coffee, Adrien didn’t pay any mind to the words that slipped past his lips. His order was a constant, rarely ever changing. Marinette was more or less the same in regards to her dosage of caffeine, but preferred to work her way through the endless flavour combinations at the little cafe. Today had her craving  a cappuccino with extra foam and a caramel drizzle: quite literally a  _ sweet relief _ . They settled on a booth in the back, Adrien shutting the blinds before taking a seat.

Adrien snapped up from his drink, only now realizing his posture was atrocious. “Oh, yeah, sorry. I totally agree.” With a shy grin Marinette was pleased enough to continue on with her defense of hems, meanwhile, Adrien went back to his self-induced trance. He told himself repeatedly to remain focused, after all, he went on outings like this with Marinette frequently, it wasn’t anything new. 

Today, however, seemed to have it out for him. From the way she was talking animatedly about what she had planned, to how the light of the morning sun fell on the gentle slope of her face. The same confident and self-assured woman that stole his attention at every free moment; be it a photoshoot break, runway show, or long meetings with his father and the rest of the team behind the clothing line. 

 

Adrien wished more than anything for his aching to be understood. Even if she rejected him, all he needed to know was that she acknowledged how he felt for her. Despite telling himself that he was content with their current, very much platonic relationship, he wanted to monopolize everything about Marinette Dupain-Cheng: her gleaming personality, the glittering blue of her eyes, the way her tongue would poke out between her lips when she was particularly focused, all the little quirks that made her Marinette. 

He couldn’t exactly help getting lost in her presence with the way his heart was plagued with a soreness he couldn’t quite describe as anything other than love sick; though he wasn’t quite sure it was a pain he always disliked. It wasn’t a sensation he was new to, though it would never stop proving to be a nuisance. Adrien knew he was supposed to present in reality right now, upholding a conversation with Marinette about work, not daydreaming about how positively adorable she was during moments like these.. 

Adrien stood abruptly as he felt a sudden burning sensation across his thighs. The scent of a vanilla mocha latte brought his attention out of the clouded haze of his mind. ‘ _ Coffee, right. We’re having coffee with Marinette…’  _ He took a few moments to register the entirety of the situation; he’d somehow managed to get so entranced by her radiance, he didn’t notice the lack of a cup in his hand until the contents were splashing across his lap. 

Marinette reacted a hair slower than him, managing a handful of napkins before throwing herself over the table. Honestly, how much of an idiot does someone have to be to get lost in fashion ramblings like she always did? Adrien must've hated the endless stream of  _ Prada this  _ or  _ Westwood that _ . He had no use for this information aside from having a point of reference.  Even then, his job was to look pretty and shut up while the designers and photographers worked.

“S-Sorry, my mind wandered and I...I didn't pay any attention,” he stuttered out, eyes glued to the mess before him rather than his crush drying his khakis. 

“No, no, that was on me for not shutting up,” she sighed, muttering a few curses under  her breath. “Are you okay?” she blurted, the thought crossing her mind just now.

“Ah, oh yeah, just a little spooked is all,” Adrien met her eyes at last; concern and sympathy for her idiot model friend, nothing new. His cheeks flushed not a second later.  _ You crush is all over your crotch, Agreste, want to do something about it or stand there? _ “M-Maybe I should go check-you know, make sure I'm not burned or anything!” 

Before she could respond, the blond excused himself to the restroom. With the door locked behind him, Adrien’s heart finally calmed. Between the near death experience of spilling a sugar coated coffee and having a pretty girl cleaning up after said coffee, he could finally have a moment to himself to reassess his decisions leading to this moment. 

“Yikes kid, what happened between home and now?”  _ Well, so much for a moment to himself.  _

“Plagg, what are you doing here?” Adrien glanced around the small bathroom, noticing his nosy feline perched on the open window’s sill. 

“Your heart was pounding, as your familiar, it's my duty to protect you,” he said nonchalantly. “Either you were in danger or finally getting laid, and by the looks of it,” he gave Adrien a good once-over, “it's the former.”

“Shut up will you, Marinette already gave me the disappointed mom stare I don't need it from you too.” He leaned against the door, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. “Now help me out.”

“How exactly? I've got paws and a collar, not much to help you with.”

“You’re my familiar! Transform me so I can get home and change, distract Marinette,  something!” He was near exasperation with this good for nothing cat. 

“Wouldn't that be suspicious? You showing up with a fresh set of clothes?” Plagg hopped onto the sink, ready to argue for his laziness. “How would distracting Marinette be helpful? She knows me, kid.”

“She won’t notice me being an idiot while I call the Gorilla for a ride home. You in or out?” he gave Plagg a final pleading look, hoping the need to protect his chosen was of more importance than the desire to laze about. “If you help me, I'll give you double the camembert tonight and no heists for the rest of the week. Deal?”

Plagg considered the offer, an internal conflict of interests pulling at every thought. “Deal, but I also want another pillow, this one is getting worn out.”

The blond perked up instantly, taking the cat into his arms for an appreciative hug. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” He set Plagg down, patiently waiting for further instructions. 

“It'll be ten times faster if you transform, and you'll be able to snag me some cheese while we're home. Now say the words so we can get this over with.”

“Plagg, claws out!”

* * *

Five minutes was more than enough time to check for burns, so what exactly was keeping Adrien in the bathroom all this time?  _ Maybe I should check on him… _ Just as Marinette got up, an annoying chime from her cellphone caught her attention. A text from Alya:  _ ‘Girl there's an akuma attack at the tv station! I’ve got more deets on the ladyblog’  _

“Just what I need…” she muttered, slipping her phone into her purse. Giving Adrien the heads up would cost time, so Marinette decided on concocting a lie about her whereabouts during the attack later. Right now she needed to slip into her other self. The first step was finding her turtledove familiar, and Marinette knew she couldn't be more than a few blocks away, especially with an akuma on the loose. 

She hurried into the alley, giving it a quick scan for anyone who might listen in on her personal calls. “Tikki, I need you down here; there's an akuma!” she boxed her ears, mind focussed solely on forming a stable connection with Tikki through the miraculous. For the amount of time she spent as Ladybug, it was still difficult forming a communication line under pressure. 

“I'll be there in a minute, hold tight!” Tikki, thankfully enough, responded quickly, though her voice was a bit hazy on Marinette’s end. A stable  _ enough _ connection. 

Marinette searched the roof tops for any sign of her familiar, growing ever anxious that the akuma was destroying more public property by the second. Just as her nerves reached fever pitch, the little bird perched herself on Marinette’s shoulder, clearly exhausted by the hurried flight. Her chosen gave her a gentle pat on the head, guilty for working her so hard. Paris needed saving, but at what cost?

“Sorry, I took so long,” Tikki breathed heavily, her chest heaving uncomfortably.

“It's fine, you came fast enough,” Marinette leaned against the alley wall, cradling Tikki while she caught her breath. “I need you to be okay before I transform.”

“I'm fine, you have to stop the akuma,” she responded, wriggling in Marinette’s grip. “Every second we spend talking it's causing more problems!” she was pleading at this point, making her way back to Marinettes shoulder.

“Alright, alright.I just wanted to be sure.” She gave Tikki a final reassuring smile, the confidence returning to transform her into the spotted hero Paris trusted. “Tikki, spots on!”

* * *

The akuma tore through the streets of Paris, causing thousands in car damages alone. Though, she seemed more concerned with getting to the tv station. Aurora Boreal was an attention hungry girl with a love of meteorology; she had dreamed of being Paris’s weather girl since she could tell a stratus from a cumulus. Passion and narcissism were an unholy combination, and in Aurora, it meant unbridled determination to reach her goal. 

She started out a secretary in the tv station, slowly climbing to errand girl of the anchors and remaining there for some time. She was fine lurking in the shadows for her superiors, but how she craved being in front of that map, pointing to shifting cloud cover. It was borderline obsessive how much she fantasized about getting the weather girl job. At the very height of her desperation, she heard of some underground mob boss from a reporter; Hawkmoth was willing to fulfill any demand so long as he got payment. This guy was sketchy, sure, but after a few meetings to discuss the finer details of his business, Aurora decided he would bring her into the spotlight.

With what could only be described as magic, Hawkmoth granted her abilities to control the weather, asking only that she bring him ten thousand euros in return. Aurora, now Climatika, robbed the nearest bank early that morning, happily delivering the money to Hawkmoth before slipping onto the streets of Paris for a morning of destruction on her way to the station.

_ ‘I hope Paris is ready for a freak deep freeze.’ _ She beamed ear to ear, only the slightest hint of a smirk tugging at her lips. Not only would she be the best weather girl, but she'd have 100% accuracy every time. Climatika was only a few blocks from the station before a disgustingly heroic voice called out to her.

“I’d say freeze but looks like you already have.” Ladybug eyed the villain from her perch on a nearby building, her suit gleaming with the morning’s sunlight. “Might I ask what you're doing?” She decided to skip the pleasantries and cut right to the (metaphorical, as well as physical) chase.

“What's it to you,  _ Ladybug _ ?” Climatika nearly spat out her name, a sinister grin forming on her lips. She turned to face the hero, twirling a dainty parasol between her hands as she spoke. “If you  _ must _ know,” she began in a falsely disinterested tone, “I'm the new weather girl, and it's my job to predict the weather.” One last malicious glance at Ladybug: the calm before a storm. “And I think it's supposed to hail. Violently.”

All at once, Climatika’s prediction came true, beginning with manageable sized hail that soon became monstrous baseballs. Ladybug used her yo-yo to shield herself, eyes darting around for the weather girl. Hail reduced visibility by seventy-five percent, but she could make out the silhouette of a parasol and its carrier.  _ Just what I need… _ Ladybug yelled curses as she leapt across the buildings, yo-yo working at breakneck speeds to repel the icy inconveniences raining down on her.

* * *

Adrien slipped into his bathroom, dropping the leather for his soaked khakis. He peered into the bedroom, finally stepping out after the coast was clear. The spacious closet offered him ample space to swap out his wet pants for a (nearly) identical pair. 

“How are your burns holding up?” Plagg called from the bed, tail swishing nervously. “You should take care of them.”

He snorted in reply. “Plagg I'm fine. A little heat can't hurt someone as hot as me.” His cocky personality had a funny way of showing up when Adrien needed verbal ammo against Plagg. Slipping into his fresh pair of pants, he stood at the foot of the bed, ready to head out.

“I won't transform you until you take care of your burns,” Plagg left all tact back at the cafe, his tone more comparable to a deeply concerned father than condescending pet. “You're hurt and I refuse to go with you in this condition.”

“Plagg, I left Marinette-”

“No. Treat your wounds,” he was adamant. Plagg would never admit it but he cared for Adrien like he _ was _ an actual kitten.

“Fine, fine!” with an annoyed eye roll and mumbled curses against a certain black cat, Adrien hopped into a cold shower. His bathroom excuse was getting flimsier by the second. The price he paid for being an idiot was certainly enough for ten vanilla mocha lattes.

“Alright, I'm clean, or do you need to lick me to be confident I’m fine?” he stood before the cat once again, half clothed, hair mussy, and a frown plastered on his face.

“With your hair _that_ messy you’re practically asking for a professional grooming from yours truly,” this made Adrien scoff, as if his hair as Chat Noir was any better than the current mess, “I guess you did an adequate enough job, let's head out,” Plagg sat before Adrien, triumph in his emerald eyes. The boy slipped into his fresh khakis, taking a deep, soothing breath.

“Claws out!”

* * *

The time between transforming and bounding back to the cafe was insignificant to Adrien, who was more preoccupied with an excuse for Marinette than his surroundings. Only when a golf ball sized hail stone caught his eye did Adrien notice Paris was entering the twilight zone. All around him on the rooftops were melting chunks of ice. Had it been late fall or early spring he might've brushed the fact off, but in the middle of a record breaking heat wave gave rise to suspicion. 

_ Where could this have possibly come from? _ He examined a hail stone between gloved fingers, searching the clear sky for a single cloud. Only when a sudden gust of wind and flash of red did a few pieces fall into place.

“No way...” A smirk grew across Adrien's lips as his nocturnal personality made its way into the light. Normally, an akuma would present itself in the late afternoon or evening. Chat only remembered early bird akumas back in his hero hay-days, then again, the villainous feline liked to think lycee was little more than a hormonal teenage fever dream.

“I gotta see this,” he vaulted across the buildings, the gap between him and that familiar suit closed within a moment. “So how's business?”

Ladybug glanced over to the voice that could only come from one particular phantom...or a cat. Tall, dark, and wanted was making a daylight appearance for the first time in months. She nearly missed the next jump as he threw a wink and kiss her way. “Just what in God's name are you doing here!”

“The usual: being a nuisance, flirting.” Another building. “You don't look sleep deprived considering we were up pretty late last night,” he was making small talk during a chase.  _ Incorrigible.  _ Had her attention not been on stopping the akuma ASAP, she might have taken him directly to the chief of police. However, in their current situation, any paw lent in apprehending Climatika was welcomed.

“Thanks, you don't look so bad yourself, considering you're wanted in seven different countries,” with Chat momentarily on her side, she felt confident in throwing a few witty remarks of her own.

“It's only five countries, and you know that! Pending laws don't count!” he was offended, ego wounded by her retaliation. It only took another rooftop to regain his narcissistic demeanor. “Besides, it’s  _ because _ I’m wanted that I’m doing so well, my Lady! After all, how could anyone  _ not _ sleep easy knowing they were desirable to another?”  

Ladybug let out an unapologetic laugh, half to mask the embarrassment she felt at being discovered — because she did in fact, take some kind of pleasure in the thought of Chat losing sleep over her little crush — and half out of unamused irascibility. Another building.

“As if the very image of a human god would put his sleeping schedule at stake for an ego boost,” the word battle would not end with the ball in his court, not when his morality swayed as greatly as it did. That, and she would never catch up with him during heist banter.

Chat was genuinely surprised that mumbling, bumbling Ladybug was throwing insults in his face without tripping over her own tongue. In fact, this was the part of their relationship he missed the most since becoming a villain.

“Aw, come on bugaboo, don't sell yourself-” he missed the ledge by a foot, reaching out for a foothold, and met by a smirking Ladybug with a hand gripping his forearm.

“Short?” she hauled him onto the rooftop, forcibly ripping the metaphorical ball from his hand and branding it with her initials.

“Don't you have an akuma to catch, hmm?” he poked her in the shoulder.  _ Great job, Agreste, no amount of suggestive winks is going to redeem you now _ .

“This is as much your problem as it is mine, so let's call a truce.” She held out a hand, sincerely offering him the partnership. Chat pondered the deal, but ultimately settled on agreeing; he'd come this far, and if she had more quips to match his, he might be able to sneak the ball back to himself while she was distracted. 

“Alright, bugaboo,” he pulled her hand and brought her closer, whispering a few words of ‘assistance’. “Just don't get used to this restraint. Once we’re done, this pussy cat is back on the prowl.” Ladybug shoved him back, abruptly turning on a heel to run back to the akuma gaining distance. If it was to hide her burning cheeks, that was her business alone.   _ Never challenge a hungry cat; we love to play with our food. _

He caught up with his super powered companions for the day. Climatika had begun another exchange with Ladybug, albeit more exasperated than the last. Her posture was stiffer, her body language expanded nearly to full capacity, the air around her swirling in abhorrence. She wasn't just angry, she had malicious intent to end these two where they stood. Chat glanced at Ladybug who had summoned a magical object: a package of plastic beads. By now, these seemingly random objects were never questioned in regards to helpfulness, Ladybug held them on the same level she did her trusted yo-yo. 

“It's no use trying to stop me,” Climatika began, summoning up another storm above the duo. “I am the greatest weather girl and no superhero wannabes are going to stop me!” The full brunt of the attack unleashed in a full cyclone on the rooftop. Snow, hail, whipping winds, even icy rain came down. Ladybug shielded her face, but brought her arms down when a warm body clutched her tightly. Chat was no knight, chivalry has been dead to him, but his hero instincts were far from deceased.

“Hurry up and think of a plan!” his voice was confident, though an edge of fear creeped into his words. Ladybug scanned the rooftop, eyes focussing on the turbulent winds and Climatika's steady position in the eye of the storm.

“I've got a plan! Just get her out of the center!” she slipped away from his grip, bringing an arm up to cover what the mask didn't. Chat took the vague direction as an excuse to let loose.

“Now I know Global warming is an important issue but don’t you think freezing the entire city is a little too far into the other extreme?” he called up to the akuma, hoping the lightest jostling would ignite the fuse. “Was the air conditioning not enough for you ice queen?” Barely acknowledging him, she instead searched for Ladybug who had all but disappeared. Before she could fully school the rooftop, Chat tossed a few hail stones her way, missing the first two but getting her in the stomach on the third shot. 

Chat bounced along the rooftop while Climatika shot lightening blasts, each coming closer than the last. Just as her aim was perfected, Ladybug ambushed her with the beads, throwing the akuma off kilter enough to send her into the cyclone. The parasol that contained her powers was snatched up by the feline, promptly snapped over his knee.A corrupted butterfly flew out weakly, Ladybug quickly captured and purified the unfortunate creature, watching it fly off into the clearing skies. A miraculous cleanse later and Aurora was back on the street level, disoriented. Had the leather clad cat not disappeared so quickly, Ladybug wouldn't have felt so empty when the lack of fistbump manifested as a knot in her stomach.

_ Adrien...Adrien! _

Marinette rushed back to the cafe, desperately praying Adrien hadn't noticed her absence or thought she'd been hurt in the attack. The booth was very much empty, their cups still sitting on the table in the same position when she'd left.  _ He hasn't come back...hopefully… _

She went to the bathroom, hesitant to knock but confident enough to call for him. “Adrien, are you in there?”

The blonde opened the door just as she reached for the knob. He was wide-eyed, disheveled even, but here just as she'd left him. He gave a sheepish grin, remnants of a superhero high igniting his emerald irises. She hardly noticed his irregular breaths or lack of them in between each heave of his chest, as the oxygen was catching up to her as well. They both resigned to exiting the cafe, thanking the staff for the excellent service and (now lukewarm) coffee. 

On the way back to the studio, Marinette asked where Adrien had been during the attack, to which he responded by gesturing to his dry khakis. He'd claimed he knew of no such attack until she brought it up as he was tending to the mess in his lap the whole time. In response to the same question posed to her, Marinette said she'd found shelter with the cafe occupants at the nearby police station, and had just returned to find Adrien. Neither of them questioned the other’s alibi.

* * *

The incident was largely behind both of them as the akuma battle helped tear down the creative block that had wedged its way between them. Marinette completed the structure of her next design and Adrien wasn't focussed on how close she was as his mind was coming up with comebacks for next week’s brush with the law. Even the rest of the week seemed to fly by, leaving the two to go separate ways Saturday night. 

Marinette’s prototype fitting on one of Gabriel’s models ran a bit late, and she left the studio just as the darkest part of the night set in. Gabriel offered her a car home, but she declined, knowing the metro would take half the time and wouldn't inconvenience the driver. After a few reluctant farewells from the studio's employees, Marinette set out to the nearest metro station. 

What Marinette didn't notice in her fatigue and rush to get home was the trio of men who'd tagged along at the last station.

  
  



	3. Pitbull ft. Ke$ha

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TIMBER

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man the tags say it's marichat but we're *checks word count* 8172 words in, WHERE IT AT? RIGHT HERE YA SHIT EATERS. All the MariChat we promised. Take a shot for every time they flirt, great now you died of alcohol poisoning. Oh well *chugs grey goose*\  
> Thanks Psyche for proofreading, <3 you

Paris nightlife on the weekends was a beehive of activity: the perfect mix of lights, laughter, love, and larceny. To Chat Noir, the weekends were the least ideal time to commit a robbery, as the crowds just outside of his favourite institutions made a silent getaway basically impossible. 

Not that he couldn't just slip into an alley and make it to a rooftop, that was easy enough, it was the possibility of Marinette inviting him out for the night while he was in the middle of a heist that deterred him from weekend escapades. Adrien wanted to act upon every open opportunity possible to be in the same room with Marinette, and running off with the Mona Lisa had to be the absolute worst reason for a rain check. 

Moreover, he refused to take his cell phone with him while under a mask; his location could be given away by one well-placed text as his ringtone wasn't the most inconspicuous ( _ 'Wannabe' _ could be picked out in a silent museum during the  _ apocalypse _ ). Adrien tried to tactfully slip in the idea of 'window shopping' at the Louvre on Tuesday evening, a single day after he promised to hang up the super suit for the week, only to be met with a flat response from Plagg.  _ 'Point made...' _ After the crushing denial, Adrien dropped the subject for the rest of the week. 

That is, until Friday reared its ugly head. 

Adrien craved the smell of magical leather-- _ 'boyfriend material' _ as he so narcissistically put it-and the brilliance of a lively city below his paws. It didn't help that he'd been confined to mundane activities in his room since Tuesday, but his cat's honour bound him to his promise of inactivity to Plagg, who enjoyed extra hours of uninterrupted rest. Adrien swore the stupid cat only moved to eat and shit. Of course, he preoccupied himself as well, going out to see one of Nino's DJ gigs at a local club, video chatting with Marinette while she worked side projects as a seamstress, and catching up on the sleep he missed in the last few weeks. In all honesty, he liked the idea of giving up crime in exchange for a quiet domestic life. It was a crying shame domestic fluff bored him to tears after four and a half days.

The most surprising fact of the outing wasn't that Adrien had cracked and wanted to suit up, or even that it was a Friday evening, it was that Plagg was the one to beg the boy to break out his alter ego. Truth be told, Plagg could only stand about as much of the vacation from theft as Adrien, and by Friday, the cat was yowling his little heart out at the city lights that beckoned him. 

"And here I thought you hated leaving the comfort of home," Adrien teased as he finished a video call with Nino. "Is someone sick of this room?"

"No," Plagg replied, though his bitter tone suggested otherwise. He padded over to the desk, seating himself on a shelf to look down upon his chosen. "But you certainly need the exercise after a week of doing nothing but watching deplorable reruns of Seinfeld."

"In my own defense," Adrien began, swiveling away from his familiar to hide the smirk of triumph forming on his face, "I was waiting for my expectations for  _ 'the show about nothing'  _ to come true. Guess my efforts were in vain." He turned back to the cat, swinging his feet onto the edge of his desk and leaning back into the chair. "But you're right, my muscles are itching for a night out."

The feline hopped onto the floor before the feet of his chosen, eyes gleaming with excitement. Adrien was as dependent to the freedom of the suit as Plagg was, but he could go much longer without a fix; in truth, he was a complete addict--albeit one in denial--to the adrenaline rush of suiting up, almost as much as he was of his designer’s attention. Marinette provided him with more than enough of high on a daily basis, which helped distract from his other addiction.

"Just say the stupid catchphrase so we can go already." Plagg was usually a composed, high-and-mighty character, never giving more than a scoff or snarky comment in response. Seeing him giddy over something as routine as transforming into Chat Noir was a sight Adrien wished he could record and play on some jumbotron.

"On second thoughts, I wonder if Marinette would like to watch Seinfeld...hmm," He paced a bit, all in good humor (at least to himself), and stood before the windows. _ 'Not so great when you're the one grasping at straws, eh, kitty?' _ He'd surely get a flogging later for teasing Plagg this badly. "Actually, she's probably busy, I guess we could head out." Adrien was met with an excited call from his familiar, and kicked  himself for not recording  _ that _ . Still, he craved the skintight leather just as much as his antsy companion did. " **Plagg, Claws out!** "

* * *

Only a few blocks from home, Marinette bypassed the crowded streets as the headache began to pound harder with every conversation she overheard through the open restaurant window. Cutting through the back alleys would bring her closer to comfort faster than any bustling, tourist packed street could, and she wouldn't have to compete with anyone else at a crosswalk. She decided on a narrow alley that would cut most of her original route out. Time patrolling as Ladybug had given her a somewhat perfect map of every shortcut around the city, mostly ones that reduced the need to use busy streets during akuma attacks, others that she used solely for gaining a few meters on Chat Noir during his heists.

Trudging down these alleys without the chatter of anyone but her fatigued mind, Marinette's thoughts wandered to her leather-clad enemy. He hadn't made the weekly trip to the Louvre, in fact, she hadn't seen that degenerate scoundrel since he lent a paw in taking down Climatika.  _ 'Maybe he got sick,' _ she figured, but her triumph faded into distress as she found herself worrying for his living situation. Marinette didn't like the idea of Chat's shift from hero to villain to be because of his civilian self's shortcomings; perhaps the reason he turned to larceny was the lack of funds. It tore at her internally every time the thought crossed her mind. On the one hand, she understood why he would denounce the title of saviour, but on the other, he was a haughty ass that teased her to no end, money problems or no.  _ 'I just hope he's okay...'  _

She exited the alley, a few more dimly lit back streets before the comfort of the bakery and her bed. Relief washed over her prematurely as a hand gripped her jacket from the shadows. The men that had followed her from the metro jumped at the window of opportunity, finally revealing themselves at her most vulnerable. A slender man with mussy hair and a sinister grin pushed her into the brick wall of the alley, his burly companions blocking either exit. He leaned down to her height, a false innocence taking hold of his voice and mannerisms. 

"Where ya' headed, little lady?" He traced the gentle slope on the strap of her purse, eyeing the sketchbook that peeked out. "It's a little late to be out alone. Paris is kind of dangerous at night, especially for a pretty lady such as yourself." The other two men exchanged a glance, signalling for the man before Marinette to cut the small talk. 

Marinette was too tired to put up a fight, and didn't dare call for Tikki, as if her panicking mind could. She tried to slink away, but a hand on her shoulder had her pinned between a rock and a mugger. 

"I don't want any trouble, just take what you want, _ please _ ," She begged, holding her purse out in a futile attempt at surrender. The mugger pushed it aside, closing the gap between himself and Marinette to just a few centimetres. He certainly didn't want her money or smartphone.

"We don't want trouble either," he traced her jawline, roughly cupping her chin to keep her still. "Now be a good little lady and-"

A gentle tap on the shoulder of Marinette's assailant brought him face to face with Paris' most wanted. 

"Might I ask what you're doing, gentlemen?" Chat had a curious grin that sank with every second he assessed the situation at hand. "Because I know you're not causing trouble for this young woman," he glanced at Marinette, faltering for a second as the realization came like a ton of bricks.

"Why don't you get back to ripping off the Louvre, Cat Burglar," the mugger gave Chat a shove, turning back to Marinette. "You don't have any place as a hero, so beat it." A fire ignited in Chat, not because he was particularly offended by the insult, but because this common street rat was telling  _ him  _ not to be a hero. 

Chat tapped him on the shoulder again, prompting an annoyed grunt from the assailant. "What is it now-" his retort was cut short by metal staff to the abdomen. As he gasped for air, the other two thugs rushed for Chat, unaware of his demeanor shift. This was no longer a matter of stopping some thugs, this concerned Marinette, who held the most sacred place in his heart; no lowlife would set another finger on his designer.

Chat bounced around the alley as the two thugs struggled to keep up with him. The thug who dared touch Marinette recollected himself enough to pin her again, shouting commands over his shoulder.

"Get him already!" he turned back to Marinette, only to find she'd been scooped up by Chat, who saluted them from the fire escape above. "Hey! That's cheating!" the thug called from below, a fire raging in his tone and body language, which consisted of irritated twitching and fruitless grasps at the air. Chat decided a few parting words ought to soothe their defeat.

"Cat burglars gotta steal, what can I say?" he could practically feel their eyes shooting hot daggers.  _ 'Don't you do it.' _ "Other than  _ 'meow’ _ , that is."  _ 'Whoops.' _

With that, he tore off along the buildings, the light filtering from below guiding his every step. He wanted to make sure the path to him-and by extension, Marinette-was winding and incomprehensive. The rooftops he familiarized himself with provided an excellent escape route on a regular night, now served as protection for his precious plus-one. Chat kept a tight grip on the girl in his arms, keeping her head tucked into his shoulder while the night air whipped around them. 

Diving down a secluded alley to set her down. Chat held her at arm's length at the shoulder, looking her up and down with the most discerning eye.

“Are you alright? They didn’t hurt you at all did they?” His voice was, surprisingly enough, distressed, almost as if he really did care about Marinette’s wellbeing. From the worry furrowing his brow to his tense grip on her shoulders, there was no mistaking his body language for anything other than serious concern. 

“I-I’m fine,” her voice was hardly above a shaken whisper. She was startled by the recent events, especially given that Chat was showing her a kind of compassion she hasn’t seen in him since he quit being a superhero. Determined to not seem weak in front of him, she gathered her wits and evened her voice, “Since when are you a hero again?”

“Saving an innocent civilian from some thugs? That’s just common decency,” he was taken back by her sudden composure, considering the harrowing situation she’d just escaped. If it was all the same to her, then he might as well relax a bit as well. “If you’re referring to that little mess on Monday,” Chat shrugged, a signature shit-eating grin tugging at his lips, “That was out of the kindness of my heart.” With a surge of confidence, he threw her a wink. “Try not to get used to it.”

Marinette offered an unconscious snort in reply. “Then saving me was out of the  _ ‘kindness in your heart’ _ too?” She put air quotes around his words, a sly smile forming almost instantly. As Ladybug, she was usually so focused on stopping a villain, and the opportunity to partake in flirtatious banter was almost completely out of the question. Now, she was free to indulge his advances without the threat of an angry police chief or impatient akuma.

"Of course it was," Chat's grin slid into a mischievous smirk, partially because he was just as free to flirt without consequence, mostly because his cocky persona wouldn't shut up. "But for a lady as lovely as you, an exception can be made," a gap had formed between them as Chat had began to open his body language more as he spoke. He noticed this and made an effort to steer the conversation in a direction that would bring them closer together. "I have to ask though, why exactly were you prowling around in the dark alone?"

"I don't know if a full time criminal like you would understand," she began, crossing her arms over her chest, "but us law-abiding citizens have day jobs that run into the night from time to time." Marinette shrugged, just as Chat had a few moments before. "I got caught up in my work and didn't notice the sun go down."

"That's not very safe, you know," he took a step closer, mirroring her stance. "Lucky for you, I was there to save you." Chat leaned down to meet her eye. "How is it I always find you in these situations?"

She flicked his bell, quite unamused by his comment. "You know what they say about black cats." Her tone was flat, but the faintest hint of smile crept along her face, which prompted Chat to force it out of her.

"Then us meeting like this was a stroke of bad luck to you?" He leaned in further, the space between them closing. Her lip twitched. "Is it because we haven't seen each other in a while?" A snort. He folded his arms behind his back, leaning in closer. "Or is it because we had to meet this way? Hmm?" the further he pressed-metaphorically and physically-the harder it became for Marinette to keep the giddy smile in check. She resorted to biting the inside of her cheek and averting her eyes. "Or maybe it's because I'm not exactly fighting for the right team?" Chat's nose was just about pressed against hers, their breaths mingling in the cool air. Another snort, though, it was preceded by a sharp inhale.  _ 'Gotcha.' _ "Well, I  _ fur _ one don't  _ meow-nd _ being on the wrong side of the  _ claw _ . The question is do  _ mew _ ?" 

Marinette held up her hands in defeat finally cracking into a pool of giggles. The grin that she'd kept quietly concealed behind a wall of indignation manifested into a goofy smile to the pleasure of the teasing black cat. "Alright, enough, enough! I missed you too, geez," she shoved his shoulder playfully, her breath returning. "Aside from the grand larceny, what have you been up to?"

"Romancing Paris' spotted hero, chasing mice, rescuing little ladies, nothing much," he placed his hands on his hips, eyeing Marinette with a coy smirk. "I have to ask you the same, since you seem to be doing well." The very thought of making small talk with Marinette in anything other than a platonic manner terrified Adrien to no end, but somehow as Chat, he oozed confidence. So much so, he was ready to push every limit of his flirting.

"I'd love to tell you all about my job, but I need to get back home," she brushed past him, only to toss a wink over her shoulder.  _ 'Where did that come from?' _ "Mind giving me a  _ paw _ ?"

Jumping at the opportunity didn't begin to describe how Chat felt at that moment; on the one hand he could dissolve into a puddle of blushing stammers, on the other, he could play along with whatever hussle she was planning. "Only if you don't mind heights."

* * *

Chat set Marinette down on her balcony, brushing back his newly mussy hair. She bit the inside of her cheek, a giddy knot forming in the pit of her stomach where her conscious usually pulled. "Hey, Chat," she grabbed his arm as he turned for the railing. "Maybe you'd like to come inside-for a drink or something that is! It's the least I can do to thank you," the dim lights of the streets below paired with the soft glow of the lights on her balcony provided enough cover for Marinette's burning cheeks. "If you're not busy tonight," she added quickly. _ 'Smooth, Dupain, smooth.' _

"I'd love to," he responded just as fast, clearing his throat in an attempt to recover.  _ 'Down kitty.' _ "I mean, yes, that would be nice." He began to thank the mask for covering most of his reddening cheeks. She stifled a laugh, opening the hatch to her bedroom and poking her head in. Tikki slept peacefully in her cage, rustling only slightly at the sound of the hatch. Marinette gave her room a quick scan; when the coast was clear she slipped down the ladder and into the room.

"You can come in," she called from below, waving a hand to Chat. With great caution, he followed after her, careful to mind the bed beneath his feet as well as the sleeping bird. Her room was lit by a few lamps, each emitting a warm glow, calming even the most nervous sinner. "So, this is my little corner of the world," She gestured to the room, noticing his eyes wandering on their own. Marinette followed his shifting gaze; the curtains, her desk, the vanity, and finally, the sleeping turtledove. 

"Cozy," he said, eyes back to Marinette's. "Changed a bit since last time," Chat immediately regretted his poorest choice of words. "L-Ladybug and I came here once, you know, on akuma business. I haven't seen you or your room since," he resumed the visual tour, rubbing the back of his neck as Marinette stifled another laugh.

"So stalking isn't on your record, just theft?" Her smile spread wider as she entertained the thought of Chat 'admiring her from afar.' She glanced at his gaze focusing on the mess of her desk as well as the web above it. An empty glass next to her sketchbook reminded her why she invited the stray into her room. "Oh yeah! What do you want to drink?" Marinette put a hand on his shoulder, bringing them both back to the situation at hand.

"Whatever is fine, I'm not picky," his polite 'Adrien' tone poked through, and Chat made a weak attempt at suppressing the urge to apologize or stop the nervous smile from forming. "Of course, a saucer of milk wouldn't be out of place," he averted his eyes again, hoping the lame joke might distract from the blush peeking out from the edges of his mask. Thankfully, Marinette was halfway to the door when he spoke.

"Alright, just a sec," she opened the door, disappearing into the dim hallway. Chat let out the breath he'd been holding in a distressed sigh. He'd come this far only to mess up on the easiest part. Plagg would never let him live it down if he failed 'quick visit with Marinette after the coffee incident on Monday. Smoothing his hair in a final attempt at composure, Chat took a few soothing breaths and seated himself before the desk. Amidst the mess of paper, fabric, and patterns, Marinette's sketchbook caught his attention, albeit delayed. He flipped through the pages, recognizing a few designs she'd shown him during breaks or meetings, but he noticed a few completely original designs, some half finished sketches, others full blown illustrations. The drawings she did amazed him to no end, not only because she had a clear vision and style, but because she could do them so effortlessly; in a matter of minutes, she could produce a fairly clean sketch of her ideas, and in the span of an hour, she could nearly finish a design right down to the jewelry and measurements. 

"I hope coffee is okay, I also brought some leftover muffins," she set the tray on her and made her way back to Chat. "You found my sketchbook," Marinette blushed, embarrassed dread creeping up her spine. It was one thing to show her designs to her models and collaborators, but her  _ crush _ , it was just as bad as asking to be roasted on a spit. She braced herself for his critique, expecting a witty comment on how messy her drawings were. Instead, he seemed to be enthralled by every page, right down to the little doodles along the sides and in the corners.

“You’re really good,” he said at last, giving her an encouraging smile before closing the book. “Your drawings come to life so vividly too,” he motioned to the work done on the mannequin near the window, a bodice with two thirds of an organza skirt. “Your talent is simply  _ meowrvolous _ . I wouldn’t mind a few lessons,” he punctuated the sentence with a wink. Her heart skipped a vital beat. Chat was back into his element, evident in the way he relaxed back into her chair and crossed one leg over the other: a very  _ ‘Chat _ ’ way to sit. Luckily for him, Marinette wasn’t going to let unnecessary nervousness keep her from throwing some flirting back into his smug face.

“Will creating art keep you from stealing it?” she quirked an eyebrow at him, resting against the edge of the desk.”Paris might finally get some use out of you then.” He rolled his eyes at her remark, crossing his arms before addressing her again.

“What of Monday’s events then, hmm? I was a genuine, bone-afied hero, saving Paris, stopping akumas with the battle beetle herself.” Monday’s events barely crossed his mind during the week, but looking back on them more closely, not a single one of his actions was selfish. For once, he wasn’t blatantly lying to her face for personal gain. One might even refer to his actions as heroic. Not chivalrous, but not criminal either. The idea of returning as the hero formerly known as Chat Noir did leave a sour taste in his mouth. Marinette scoffed at him, heading back to the chaise longue to retrieve the mugs and platter of muffins. 

“Heroes usually pose for newspaper photos or say inspirational crap to the cameras; you steal things and tell horrendous jokes.” She took a sip from her mug, finding a place back against her desk. “Not that I can speak from experience, though,” she dropped melodramatically, mindful of the coffee mug in her hand, “I am but a humble fashion design student.” Chat began to unwrap a banana muffin, bringing the confection to his lips before putting in his two cents.

“So you work with models? That’s gotta be exciting,” he took a sip from his mug, which was decorated with an adorable cat mascot. 

Marinette thought on his remark for a second, reaching for a cinnamon muffin. “It can be, but I usually only work with one model on the regular. Maybe you’ve heard of him,” the smug edge to her voice and smirk only added to the playful aura she was emitting. “A Mr. Adrien Agreste.” He snorted at the way she proudly declared his name, as if that should impress him.  _ ‘At least humor her, will ya’ kid?’ _ a voice kicked him back to reality, where he was not Adrien Agreste, model extraordinaire, but Chat Noir, asshole to the core, but a nobody behind the mask.

“Paris’ poster boy himself? I’m impressed,” he nodded, falsely defeated by her accomplishment. Well, as defeated as one could be without being accused of narcissism. In truth, his civilian name being used as a status symbol made him vomit, and to be used by Marinette as a jab at his alter ego ground his gears to no end. Though, she certainly did know which buttons to push. A smile tugging on the corners of her lips  cleared his thoughts of any malice towards his day job.  _ ‘God, she’s so happy,’ _ his internal choir sighed in unison, elated to see his other self was of more use than just a moveable mannequin.

“Crazy huh, it seems like just yesterday I was cutting his face out of magazines, now  _ I’m _ the one designing his clothes,” a wistful air enveloped Marinette, loosening a knot of doubt that formed in her stomach since day one of her apprenticeship. She must’ve been lost in that dreamy trance for a while as Chat’s voice had brought her back to reality.

“I hate to cut this little get together short, but it’s pretty late, even for nocturnal beings such as yours truly,” he set the empty mug on her desk, careful to not mess with her organized mess. He put a warm hand on her shoulder, meeting her eyes, “I did like seeing you again, even if it was under unfortunate circumstances,” with that, Chat headed for the hatch. The chances Marinette would bump into him again were close to none, and without thinking of whatever consequences that would come with such an action, she grabbed his hand as he opened the hatch.

“Chat, I’d like to see you again,” the words came out faster than she could process them. “What are you doing next week?”

He had turned around suddenly when she had reached out to him, taking a moment to process what she had said. When he did, however, he could feel the blush that spread from his face down to his shoulders. 

When Chat’s response was rather delayed, Marinette snatched her hand back, taking a step away from him. “Sorry, I made it awkward didn’t I?” 

With a jump, Chat realized how long he was just staring at Marinette’s hand in his without responding to her, “No, no, no! I’m sorry, I was just surprised, I didn’t really expect that you would want to see me again.” Her cheeks were just as flushed as his, eyes trying their hardest to look past him and out into space, where no one can hear you blush. She looked up when Chat started speaking again, “but, apart from getting some new eggs for the collection, I’m sure  my week will be available for an appointment with a lovely lady such as yourself.”

“That’s great! I mean,” she recollected herself,  _ ‘Gotta keep it cool,’ _ “How does Wednesday sound? You coming over, I mean, on Wednesday,” Marinette was reverting back to a babbling idiot, just as she was in lycee. “Can you come over on Wednesday?” her fight had been lost to a loose tongue and poor sentence planning, but her determination to see Chat kept her from melting into a puddle right there.

“Wednesday?” Chat thought on the day: a photoshoot and some fittings, but nothing that would run into the night. “Sounds like a date.” Marinette’s heart lept from her chest at the thought of an actual romantic outing with Chat Noir. Her only response was a half-conscious farewell and a lovesick grin as he left with a similar giddiness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CAUSE IT'S GOING DOWN  
> I'M YELLING TIMBER   
> YOU BETTER MOVE  
> YOU BETTER not date a criminal Mari stop
> 
> This fic is devolving into a shitpost tbh


	4. Furiday the Thirsteenth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Murphy's law

Sitting bolt upright in her bed, Marinette took a few deep breaths. Her dream had been a fantasy night land, one in which she was the belle of the ball, perfect gown and all. More importantly, her partner for the night was Paris’ resident teenage heart throb, looking more princely than ever. For most of the night Marinette was wrapped in his warm embrace, separating only when the dance required it. All had been going perfectly it seemed, until Adrien stopped dancing and dipped Marinette-- _a french dip._

In an instant, her Prince Charming became Purr-ince Chat-ming. That alone didn't force her up--she'd seen Chat plenty of times in her nightmares--no, it was the low purr followed by a sickening pronunciation of his nickname for her that made her mind come to a screeching halt.

Marinette glanced around the room,  relieved by the sight of her bed sheets and poster-plastered walls. Her dream hadn't particularly scared her (scarred maybe), nor did the pesky way he said Princess. What _did_ bother her was the thought of Chat making serious, _romantic_ , advances towards her civilian self. As Ladybug, Chat had no idea what she could be found outside of the suit as. Marinette,  however, could be reached via the bakery or cell phone. Did she mind his flirtatious advances? As a joke, of course not. Seriously? It made her panic.

“Not on any of his nine lives,” she muttered, digging around her pillows and bedsheets for her phone. When she tapped the home button, the screen remained dark. Dread bubbled in her stomach as the realization hit her. With the amount of light filtering through through the blinds and commotion coming from below, it had to be at least eight o'clock. _Eight o'clock…she'd overslept._

“Tikki!” Marinette called, as she began rushing around her room to collect her bag and changing into a fresh outfit. The turtledove poked her head out from under the covers, still drowsy.

“What is it?” she cooed sleepily. “Do we need to suit up?”

“No! My alarm didn't go off!” she fell over while trying to zip up her jeans. “I've gotta go or else I'll be late!” in her hurry to get out of her room, she slammed face first into the doorframe. A few contained swears later she was out of the bakery and nearly to class.

* * *

 

Just as the bell rung Marinette had managed to quite literally get to class by the skin of her teeth, or rather arm, as she'd fallen onto her side in the process of pushing past the door. Ms. Bustier gave her a concerned glance before returning to her desk. Role call went as usual, save for Marinette yelping instead of actually talking. The rest of her classmates could only offer amused giggles and scoffs; this kind of nonsense wasn't surprising, but to have a string of embarrassing blunders back to back in the span of ten minutes was unheard of.

The period seemed to drag on for an eternity, so much so, Marinette found herself drifting back to her dream land. That is until sharp pains in her abdomen forced her back into the waking world. _Great, pms_ and _bad luck? What did I do to piss off the universe_ this _time?_ She masked the cramps best she could, hoping for the lunch period to arrive sooner so she could down a bottle of ibuprofen at the bakery.

Ms. Bustier excused the class for lunch, a wave of relief passing over everyone's face. Marinette hurried to the bakery, dragging Alya by the hand down the crowded sidewalk. The redhead could see a determination only a hormonal teenage girl could muster and kept her comments behind a wall of understanding. Alya waved to Tom and Sabine in place of Marinette as the two went upstairs to the kitchen.

“Girl, either the world is ending or you've got major cramps now which is it?" Alya crossed her arms, quirking an eyebrow at the girl.

“A bit of both,” Marinette called in reply from the bathroom. “Today has been one of the worst in a long time, aha!” She found the bottle of ibuprofen hidden behind dozens of other medications and sleeping pills. Before she could make it out of the bathroom, a stray pair of shoes tripped her, sending her onto the kitchen floor on her stomach. _What’s stopping me from downing this whole bottle again?_ Picking both her bruised ego and body up, she went to the fridge for a can of soda. “First it was my alarm, then tripping like all hell, and now these dumb female bodily functions. What else could go wrong?” just as she’d finished the last syllable and popped the tap, a stream of fizzy diet coke coated her in a sticky mess of artificial flavours and sugar. _Well, that’s one way…_

Alya shook her head, sighing at the misfortune of her normally lucky friend. “Why don’t you go freshen up; maybe it’s the outfit that’s causing this mess,” even if it was just a few words of encouragement, anything to explain this twilight zone-esque bad luck was comforting to Marinette. The redhead patted her on the shoulder with a warm touch, prompting a half-smile and a glimmer of hope.

* * *

 

The class period after lunch started out much better than the one prior: Marinette--with a hefty hand from Alya--had gotten to the classroom a few minutes early, clean shirt and quelled uterus. Judging by the idle chatter of her classmates, they’d either forgotten about her incident this morning, or decided it wasn’t worth their time; both settled her stomach equally. Ms. Mendeleiev began a lesson on particle acceleration, writing a novel’s worth of notes on the front board, all seemed to be going according to plan. Until a sudden oozing sensation sent the pit of Marinette’s stomach straight to the lab floor; the cramps coupled with her emotional distress should have been big enough red flags, but Marinette was dumb enough to ignore them. Today wasn’t just another random bad day with no real culprit, today was day one of the _beautiful_ circle of life. Otherwise known as the female menstruation cycle. Had her mind connected the pieces, then the note she was currently scribbling out may not have existed, and by extension, the punishment that came with her not-so discreet way of trying to pass it to Mylene.

“Ms. Dupain-Cheng!” Ms. Mendeleiev whipped around, eyes fixed on the slip of folded paper between the two girls. “Bring that note here this instant!” The girl trudged to the front, holding the note out with a trembling hand. Her teacher simply turned to address the class. “Whatever you’ve written obviously should be shared, would you care to read it aloud?” Her heart went to the center of earth.

“Ms-Ms. Medeleiev…” she tried to plead with the heartless teacher using watery blue bell eyes. Her efforts were met with an icy glare. No amount of begging or tears would get her out of this unprepared public announcement, nor would anything hide her shame. “Mylene, do you have any pads or tampons?”

The class erupted in horrified gasps that quickly devolved into a fit of laughter and bickering. Chloe had the very look of smug victory plastered on her face, Sabrina giving off a false aura while her eyes showed Marinette raw sympathy. Marinette found her way back to her seat, face flushed from ears to neck, as though nothing could make this mortification worse. Oh, how wrong she was. Rose tapped her on the shoulder, an inviting grin stretching from ear to ear. The blonde was more than elated to help out a classmate, opening her bag to reveal at least ten, extra absorbent overnight pads.

“Don’t worry, Marinette, I’ll always be here to help!” she spoke just a hair too loud, causing a second wave of giggles and murmurs across the lab. Marinette accepted a pad sheepishly, muttering a few thank yous before laying her head in her arms. Nino and Adrien offered smiles of support, but couldn’t help but feel just as embarrassed for her actions. _‘Death by akuma wouldn’t be so bad right now,’_ her internal chorus didn’t dare speak rationally at this point, they were as done with today as she was.

After an actual eternity, class was dismissed for the day and the students made their way out of school. Marinette clung to Alya, petrified of being hit by a car in the crosswalk, or falling down an open sewer grate. Even the safety of her own room couldn’t silence the unease still fresh in her mind; on the off chance that an akuma did attack the city, she wasn’t certain she could be of any use. On the other hand, Ladybug was the luckiest citizen Paris had, so she might be better off than her civilian counterpart. Either way, Marinette didn’t want to be left alone for more than a few minutes.

“Sorry kiddo, I’ve got babysitting in a bit and your bad luck might rub off on the kids,” she shrugged unapologetically, rising from her seat in Marinette’s office chair. “Any other day I’d make sure you were okay, but my hands are tied.” Alya did her best to seem sincere, but this wasn’t really any of her business to deal with while she had a job to get to. “Look, if you’re still having a bad day, I’ll take you out for ice cream after my babysitting.”

Marinette offered a deflated sigh in response, clutching the pillow on her chaise. As much as she wanted to latch back onto her friend for emotional and physical support, she didn’t want to revert back to her early years in lycee, years where she burdened the redhead with insignificant hiccups, when Alya had her own complications to deal with. “Okay, but don’t forget your promise,” for the first time today, her tone was lifted from misery, taking on a playful air.”If you do, you owe me a pint of rocky road.”

“Deal,” Alya smiled at her, giving her a final head pat before leaving the girl.

A nap and uneventful shower later, Marinette sat herself down to do the homework assigned today. If the world decided to stop rotating, the constant of homework would continue at alarming speeds. At least one thing about today had some semblance of order, even if dead literature analysis made her gag. She had just began a worksheet on _The Count of Monte Cristo_ when Tikki had come to her in a state of ruffled feathers and panic.

“Marinette! Marinette! Marinette!” the turtledove danced along her pages, trying to get the girl to unfocus. “You need to check your messages right this moment!”

“What do you mean? Is someone in trouble?” she moved back from the desk, heading over to where her charger was stationed. Seventeen messages from Chat Noir were scrolling along her screen, each with increasing distress.

_‘Akuma, southside.’_

_‘Could really use some help here._

_‘Ladybug now is the time to suit up.’_

_‘Holy FUC K M Y LADY.’_

_' (TnT;;;) '_

* * *

 

Marinette immediately dropped her phone, turning to her familiar. “Tikki, Spots on!”

The spotted hero arrived at the last location Chat had sent her, the east wing of a university--well, the streets around the east wing. A city block surrounding the fight had been blocked off by the local police, who were indifferent to the skirmish of the week™. Nearby spectators watched in awe, cell phones held in a sea of  future youtube views. The akuma seemed to be an aging man, well into the latter half of his fifties, wearing an old fashioned suit. What was peculiar about him wasn't the giant TI-84, but the fact he was completely devoid of color, taking on the appearance of photo from yesteryear. Ladybug could only _assume_ this was the reason for Chat’s borderline hysterical texts, though with the amount of banter he was making, she thought he would have been worse off. In fact, he wasn't the slightest fazed by the ordeal, he actually seemed to be _enjoying_ it.

“Math has never been my favourite subject, but fighting you sure is the _inverse_ ,” Chat waited for the audience’s reaction, throwing a signature grin to a few of the news cameras. He recognized his familiar red clad lady near one of the police barriers and promptly  made his way over. “Glad you finally came; this is one rough crowd.”

“Not like I can empathize with them or anything,” she retorted, happy at least to have his company. “Then again, they don't have to hear your jokes at two am.”

“My comedic genius cannot be contained, not even by human bodily functions!” he made a dramatic gesture, brushing against her in false passion for the cause. She snorted before shoving him back. “Since you're not here for open mic night, wanna give me a paw?”

“If it'll make you stop texting me, sure.” Ladybug removed her yo-yo from the holster before aiming it at a support column. Chat followed her, making a mirroring trail from below.

The akuma fumed from his position on the roof of an adjacent building. “Do you honestly think another hero will double your chances of defeating me? It only increases your odds by, uhm,” he consulted the cursed item, “36.92 percent!”

“ _This_ is what you were spamming me about for the past twenty minutes?” Ladybug shot Chat a glare of malcontent.

“Well excuse me for not having better entertainment, _your highness_ ,” he place his hands on his hips, firing back the same daggers with sarcastic ferocity. “This guy is bad news, all right, and I need you here, so quit the gripe and get to the hero-ing.”

“ _Excuse_ you?” she jabbed a finger into his chest, “ _I_ take the time out of my civilian day--which sucked absolute _ass_ today, I might add--to play Daring Doo. I am _not_ about to be told how to do _my_ job by _you_ ,” she backed him up to the very edge of the roof, spandex thudding against leather with every point.

Chat sighed, taking her accusatory hand in his own. “Alright, point made, I'm sorry,” he pressed a warm, sympathetic kiss onto the back of her hand, “ My lady.” She retracted and went back to the present situation, which was far more important than a “lover’s quarrel.”

“Well, what have you got on Mr. Pantsuit over there?”

“Old stats professor, pissed off by technology, you know, a gen-x thing. Cursed item is a TI-84, which helps him predict the probability of an event happening. Not much more to it than that.”

“Alright, this should be simple enough; you distract, I grab the calculator. Deal?” She turned to him with determination, a surge of misplaced confidence returning.

“Like I’d have it any other way?” the edges of his lips curled into a smile, pleasantly impressed by her recovered moxie. With that, they parted ways, Ladybug taking to the buildings around the akuma, while Chat darted across the ground, hoping to steal the spotlight.

_‘Simple and clean; in and out, yeah,’_ her internal chorus had merged into a supportive audience, satisfied with some control for once.

“There is a one percent chance she will be able to stick that landing!” Ladybug eyed the final chimney that would bring her to a perfect vantage point, but a sudden commotion from the akuma stopped her mid-toss. She disregarded his remark, propelling her yo-yo and taking off for the roof. Her landing was a tumble straight into the chimney she’d aimed for.

Picking herself up, Ladybug recentered her balance, unsure of what had just taken place. _‘How did he--No. That’s gotta be a load of bull…’_ Chat was busy trying to catch the akuma’s eye, hopping around and flailing his arms wildly.

“Don’t bother her, we were in the middle of a conversation, remember!” he used his hands as a megaphone, finally getting the akuma to whip around with a resurgence of animosity.

“Correct you are! Now, cat,” he used the calculator to summon a pixelated spear, “Can you predict the odds of you surviving this?” All at once the akuma launched the spear at Chat, returning to his calculator to the object for consultation. “My calculations say .01 percent!” When he returned to the leather clad hero, his jaw dropped to the street: the damned cat was standing beside the spear, examining it.

“Guess your alpha was too small,” he plucked the spear from the fractured asphalt, snapping it over his knee. “Wanna give it another try?” He shrugged, an invitation.

Ladybug couldn’t help but gape. Sure, Chat was an overconfident punk, but he wasn’t invincible. Something wasn’t right, either the akuma was the worst statistician known to man--highly unlikely--or Chat was Jesus--basically impossible. Neither option was possible, yet here was the unluckiest kitten in all of Paris without a scratch on him.

“That's it, no more messing around! The chances of you beating me have gone from 37 to 2.3!” he summoned another spear, this time aiming for Ladybug, still caught in amazement. “See if you can dodge this, Buggy!”

Just as he'd released the spear, Ladybug snapped back into reality, hands flying instantly to her yo-yo. She aimed for a building across the street, knowing full well she could make it (at least _thought_ she could make it). The akuma turned to the swinging hero, consulting the object again.

“Her odds of falling are 99.99%!” his voice was verging on hysterical, a menacing grin spreading across his lips. Without realizing it, she missed the very edge of the building, toes barely grazing the weathered brick. Air whipped around her, a sensation she had known well, but she wasn’t falling in a graceful arc, this was a free fall _plumet_. Ladybug couldn't manage a scream, opting for a stilted whimper.

Until the thud of a familiar leather suit stole the very air she breathed. Her eyes had been glued shut but a gentle clawed hand urged them open. Chat had a look that was somewhere between unshakeable confidence and sea-sickness.

“I caught you,” his voice was firm, a tangible anchor to which Ladybug could cling to for support.

“Yeah, I noticed,” she nearly choked on the response. Instantly--whether it had been the sudden death aversion or because she was desperate--she pulled him in close by the neck, each breath deepening. “You caught me.”

Chat could do little more than cautiously wrap his arms around her back (he didn't dare venture further down). “LB, we’ve still got an akuma to deal with. Do you think you can stand on your own?” he tried to make eye contact with her, only managing to see blue hair and antenna.

She swallowed a lump that had rested quite nicely in the back of her throat. “Yes, but I can't summon a lucky charm,” Ladybug was very much still shaking, her uneven breaths settling into his collarbone. He helped her up, slowly retreating to a ‘professional’ distance (for his own sake rather than hers).

“Don't worry, I'll get the calculator,  you just get distract him and get ready to purify, deal?” Chat glanced at the akuma before turning back fully to address Ladybug.

“Aye, aye, Captain Noir!” humor returning to her weakened ego, she saluted him overenthusiastically. He gave a tiny snort in response. _‘Maybe he'll forget that awkwardly long hug.’_

They parted in opposite directions, Ladybug drawing her yo-yo to annoyingly distract the akuma while Chat used his baton to gain higher ground. The akuma was too preoccupied with the constant barrage of taunts and yo-yo flicks made at him to notice a cat falling from the sky. Chat used his claws to dig into the akuma’s coat, desperately close to grabbing the cursed object. A final tug from the akuma sent him into Ladybug, the pair lying in a heap of tangled limbs. Ladybug had ended up on top and blushed furiously at the smirking cat beneath her.

“Cats always land on their feet, but I'm not opposed to this position in the slightest,” he winked, a little too suggestively for her tastes, but that's not what concerned her: something hard jabbed into her abdomen and she didn't like how close it was to being crotch height.

“I hate to ask, but is that a baton in your pocket or are you happy to see me?” She picked her chest up, revealing the cursed graphing calculator wedged between them. A sigh of relief prompted the duo to get back to work, which meant destroying the cursed item and purifying the akuma.

The crowd watched as a pure white butterfly drifted away from the battle site and the cleansing light returning crumbled pillars back to pristine condition. Ladybug and Chat fist-bumped for a few newspapers, taking extra care to get a _purr-fectly_ cheesy shot for Alya hiding in the front row.

Just as the crowd began to disperse, Chat decided to push his luck a hair further. He held Ladybug’s shoulder and leaned down, planting a sweet peck on her cheek. Alya let out an inhuman noise, somewhere between triumphant whoop and unholy growl. Ladybug felt her cheeks camouflage with her mask.

* * *

 

The trip home wasn't as grueling as the rest of the day, but getting caught in a bunch of tourists _did_ leave Marinette exhausted by the time she got to her bed. Stopping by an ice cream parlor with Alya _conveniently_ by the site of the akuma attack did little to ease her pain, not to mention the ungodly surprise of bad rocky road sending her to vomit.

In fact, the only thing that made her day even slightly worth it was the phantom touch of a certain black cat’s lips against her cheek. So much so, she relished in the moment from the second she got into bed. The dream she'd woken up from had almost taken hold of her when a nyan cat ringtone forced her back up.

“Chat, it's like midnight, what do you want?” her voice was groggy, mind still drifting.

“My Lady I'm robbing the Louvre!” muffled police sirens could be heard over his heaving breaths.

“You what?”

“My Lady **_I robbed the Louvre_ ** ,” the sirens had faded into a faint echo.

“Whatever, I love you, goodnight.”

The next morning’s file photo wasn't of their sweet kiss, but of Chat’s new mugshot. News Reporters had multiple claims playing on the bad luck of the day and of Paris' new cat burglar.

Warily checking her phone, Marinette sighed at the white text proclaiming that it was now Saturday the Fourteenth.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We update and it's a flashback. 
> 
> It would've been funnier if we ACTUALLY uploaded this last week, you know, on friday the thirteenth, but we got lazy and I had a final project due so,,,,,
> 
> Either way we'll double post the next chapter that has actual plot (which is mainly fluff and more fluff)
> 
> Thanks to Psyche for being my lovely proofreader, hope you enjoy this trash as much as we enjoy writing it.


	5. Fish R Fukin' Dumb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> God with us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I am the bell guardian, guardian of the bells"
> 
> "Quasimodo quivers before her!"
> 
> "//into the distance Fuck off!"

Wednesday couldn't have come soon enough. Neither Adrien nor Marinette could really contain themselves by four p.m. While a majority of the morning was a series of design meetings, the afternoon was a whirlwind of fittings and last minute decisions. A bratty guest model and irritated photographer only backed Adrien further into a corner of anxiety. Had Marinette not been present (waiting patiently to go out for dinner) and constantly giving reassuring smiles, he wasn't sure he would have kept his composure. Just having her near doused the flames that began in his stomach each time the photographer called for a redo. Even the extra thirty minutes added to retake the first few shots couldn't bother him.

“That will be all, thank you for your time, Mr. Agreste,” the photographer mumbled, nose buried in the screen of her computer, eyes scanning the new images. “I'll see you next week.” She waved absentmindedly to him in a weak attempt at a farewell.

Adrien offered a forced smile, a bitter thought starting in the back of his mind. Before whatever petty malice could take hold of his attention,  Marinette tugged on his sleeve. Their eyes met and two pools of azure cooled his fiery emotions. He waved back to the photographer, tossing her a genuine smile as they exited the studio.

“So what do you feel like tonight?” Adrien asked as he pushed the elevator call button. “I'm up for anything.”

“Mmm, I'm craving something fishy,” Marinette hummed in return, closing her eyes. Against her lids swam a school of colourful fish, each beckoned her to feast on their delicate flesh. “How about sushi?”

He thought on her suggestion, similar images dancing in his own imagination.  “Sushi sounds great; got a place in mind?” Marinette could think of a few places; but they were quite out of the way. Far enough,  unfortunately, that one traffic jam might put her ‘date’ with Chat in jeopardy. 

“On second thought, why don't we order in and eat at my place?” she hoped the sudden change of request wouldn't be suspicious or impolite. “You did say anything after all, right?” a quick justification might change his mind. 

“Oh yeah, that's fine,” Adrien did his best not to sound deflated, though a hint of sadness pulled his volume down. “Maybe some other day then…”

Marinette noticed his (poorly) masked disappointment and pulled out her phone. “Why don't we go to a place nearby? Like that little Italian place not too far from here,” her tone was verging on apologetic, not so much for Adrien, but herself since she had momentarily forgotten about Chat’s visit. “I know it’s not the fanciest, but a quiet outing sounds great after that shoot.”

Adrien weighed the options before him: on the one hand, he could just take Marinette where he wanted,  but the sudden change of character might destroy their friendship, on the other, he did have the chance to see her again later that night.  _ ‘That’s it,’ _ the gears in his mind turned faster than the words could formed on his tongue.

“What if we another night?!” overexcitement cut out most of the important portions of his response, and it wasn't until Marinette mouthed an okay did he realize the thought was only sixty-five percent complete. “I mean, we should, you know, get together for dinner-sushi specifically-some other day-or night if you'd want to?” At least  _ this _ personality didn't need to eat butter for breakfast; not like it'd help Adrien be slick anyway.

Marinette couldn’t decide what relief was sweeter: not having to rush around preparing for Chat’s visit or avoiding another awkward encounter of the food variety. Sure, she loved spending time with her model and collaborator, but ever since Adrien had created the Friend Gap™ without much of an explanation, she found it difficult to strike up a conversation that wasn’t based somewhere in their work. Neither of them really tried to address the elephant rampaging through the cafes or restaurants they frequented, nor did they really have a way  _ to _ address it. It couldn’t have been their strange relationship in lycee (at least that’s what Marinette told herself), so what exactly tore a hole in the tapestry of communication?

Ground floor. Adrien waited on Marinette’s answer, eyes glancing beyond the glass door for a familiar Mercedes and its driver.

“Yeah, sure, some other day,” she finally answered, albeit a bit uncertainly. “How’s Saturday?”

He reviewed the list of shoots for that day, which ended fairly early. “I should be free by seven, how about eight thirty? Unless you’re busy that is-I’d hate to bother you on a day off.” A tiny giggle in reply calmed his increasing blood pressure. Being slick wasn’t really Adrien’s business anyway. Marinette searched his eyes for something to part with (not that she needed to anymore), some warmth she could reciprocate before they headed in opposite directions for the night.  _ ‘Green, weird...Fuck.’ _ she found herself staring, but the little flecks of gold on the edges of his irises kicked her in the stomach. 

“Eight thirty, see you there! Well, hate to part so suddenly, but I’ve got some designs to finish, see you tomorrow!” before she could hear his parting, Marinette was a block down the street towards the metro, only vaguely remembering how she’d exited the building or even how she managed to be running in heels.  _ ‘Shit, not this again…’ _ That shade of green was too sympathetic, and reminded her of a golden retriever (being blonde didn’t help either). From the first time she’d met that shade- _ really  _ met it- and every subsequent time, Marinette’s stomach did flips. It only brought back cringe worthy memories of her pining. As much as she tried to shake her head and ignore her crush on that shade, her internal choir would begin a debate neither of them would win.  _ ‘Please let that dumb stray make me feel differently...’ _ Marinette leaned against a lamp post, catching the breath she so desperately had forgotten to take in her escape.

* * *

 

Adrien stood before the bathroom mirror, shaking out his hair and restyling it with his fingers. Each style was met with a frustrated inhale and his internal monologue:  _ ‘You are a model, why can’t you fucking do this. Boi, I am abouta go off on your mussy ass.’ _

“I thought you didn’t use mirrors,” Plagg hopped onto the counter, peering at his own reflection while speaking to the discontented boy before him. “I assumed you just accepted the way you look each morning. Or does Marinette do that for you?”

He put his hands on the counter, resisting the urge to pass the most bitter glare he could muster. “Occasionally, she does,” his jaw was set to allow only composed answers through. “But I take care of it, or the photographer does,  _ Plagg _ .” 

“Look, Adrien,” the cat was addressing him by name, which meant it was fatherly lesson time or he was about to die. Hopefully the latter. “I know you’re nervous, but this is Marinette, if you just act like yourself, nothing can go awry.”

A snort started in the back of his throat, stopped only by a sarcastic tongue. “Yeah, because awkward, bumbling, maladroit Adrien Agreste is who she’d love to see. Plagg, she expects a socialite bad boy and if you haven’t noticed I’m the exact opposite,” another look in the mirror sent him into a heap on the counter. Moping wouldn’t ease his anxiety, but it did postpone the inevitable.

“She’s not, no,” he padded over to the boy, making a path onto his shoulders and resting finally on his back. “I just don’t see why you can’t do it again,” he said nonchalantly before extending into a deep stretch.

“What you mean last like week? That was me coming down from an adrenaline rush-There’s no way I could get that high before meeting her!”

“Lying to me is futile; your heart is pounding.” Plagg made his way to the mirror, inspecting his profile in depth. “We shouldn’t keep her waiting, so pick a hairstyle to mess up already.”

* * *

 

“Absolutely not!” Tikki squawked from her place on the railing. “I missed him last time, but I won’t allow you to see that-that-that  _ criminal _ again!” she tried to tear Marinette from her work at the table, feathers ruffled beyond repair. Her scolding went ignored.

“Relax, will you. He’s not hurting anyone, and you used to love Chat, what happened to that?” a playful air had enveloped her. After the breakdown on the way home (and a bit  _ at _ home), Marinette had found peace again, whether it be from the prospect of seeing  Chat again or because she’d accepted the hand of Satan.

“When he was saving Paris, that’s when! Marinette, he’s a dangerous super villain now, and we have no idea what his intent is!”

“What could he possibly do? Hm? Steal my stuff?” she closed her sketchbook and began putting away her markers. 

“Murder you, kidnap you. The list could go on forever, but the point is he’s bad news!” the bird shifted uneasily along the railing, (irrational) fear in her tone. “I don't trust him, Marinette. Why would your partner of years turn around and become a villain?”

She bit the inside of her lip as the worst possibilities crossed her thoughts again. “I'm not sure,” she began slowly as she rose from her chair. “But whatever reason is his and I won't press him for it.” With a quick shake of her head, Marinette opened the hatch to place her sketchbook and marker pouch on the bed below. “If he couldn't tell Ladybug, there's no reason he should tell me.”

If it had really been  _ that _ easy to let go of the topic, Marinette wouldn't consider herself human; her partner’s moral compass had always pointed towards good (even at times when it drifted towards mischief), so naturally a few questions arose when he became the black cat burglar of Paris. Hours worth of phone calls, hundreds of text messages, and a few parting patrols only left her more confused than before. His demeanour was still haughty, but the warmth between them had faded entirely, replaced by empty dread. Neither of them reached out to discuss the problem, nor did either of them care to. They decided on deleting each other's contacts and staying on separate sides of the law. Bittersweet, uneasy, and raw were the only emotions she felt for the longest time; that is, until Chat was making flirtatious banter. After that first wink in the Louvre, all angst exited her system and left hunger. 

“Marinette...please think about what you're doing…” Tikki looked to the girl with sympathetic eyes, a last plea yelling louder than the bird ever hoped she could.

“I'm sorry, Tikki,” she scooped the little bird up into her arms, a warm cradle contrasting her sudden unapologetic tone. “But I've been in a desert and that boy is a tall glass of water.” With that, she placed Tikki besides her sketchbook and closed the hatch. Her familiar might have been the voice of reason, but unless the suit was on, Marinette had no reason to listen. “This hurts me  _ way _ more than it hurts you,” she called from above, only getting indignant squawks and desperate scratches through the door.  _ ‘She'll come around eventually.’ _

Enveloped in her own thoughts, Marinette didn’t notice the shadow that creeped around her balcony. A normal greeting was so far below Chat, he swore it fell off the roof on accident, though it was quite obvious a gentle nudge from a clawed glove was to blame. He remained just out of sight, darting around the chimney or standing directly behind Marinette when she turned her head. Quite pleased (or perhaps bored) with his unseen teasing, he finally gave her a quick tap on the shoulder, prompting a shriek. Jumping away from the cat she held her hands out in a fighting stance he’d expect from a certain blue haired bug. Realization as well as an unamused glare brought Marinette back to a reality where the only person who could tap her on the shoulder  _ on her balcony _ had to be Chat. 

“You ass!” she gave him a shove, hell bent on scolding him for making too quiet of an entrance. “Ever heard of a greeting?”

“Was that not one?” he smirked, but his eyes held playful affection. “There’s no sweeter sound than a princess calling out in distress.” Chat bowed, hand over heart, expression nothing less than over the top chivalry.

“Doesn’t causing distress to a princess violate chivalry?” her tone was flatter than a piece of paper.

“If you’d rather I left…” his voice trailed off as he turned toward the railing.

“That’s not what I’m saying at all!” the reply was much more desperate than she’d planned. “I mean you just got here. Coming all this way to just leave seems like a waste.”

Chat turned back to her, taking her hand in his. “You’re right. May I?” he held her hand to his lips, eyes searching hers for consent. A nod allowed him to place a kiss on her knuckles. “Where have my manners gone?”

“Good question,” she rolled her eyes, retracting her hand before sighing. “Maybe you should ask the Mona Lisa since you’re the only one with an idea to her whereabouts.”

“Gonna be kinda hard when she’s sitting on the ocean floor in a vault,” he replied casually. “But I care more about Mari Lisa and how her life is going.”

Marinette snorted, a goofy grin spreading across her rose dusted cheeks.  _ ‘Ah yes, the word play begins.’ _ “Oh you know, talking to gorgeous models day in and day out: same old, same old. You?”

“Changing ‘wanted dead or alive’ to ‘preferably dead’, trespassing, planning out what to say to you: same old, same old,” he leaned back on the railing, shoulders relaxing as the weight shifted to his legs.

“Wow, you think about me outside of the suit?” she pulled a chair before him, sitting back with crossed arms; an interrogation was in order after a statement like that. “Before you answer that though, keep all weird fantasies to yourself, please.” The thought of who Chat might be enticed her. 

He gave an over dramatic gesture of disgust, hand flying to cover a gasp. “Indecency before a princess? Sacrilege!” Chat’s expression slid back into flirtation after another snort from the girl before him. Another haughty smirk confirmed Marinette’s assumptions, not like he really wanted (or tried) to hide them. “Well, yeah. A beautiful girl that welcomes a stray into her bedroom at ungodly hours of the night?  _ And _ made plans to see him again? How could I resist?” He smiled warmly, a foolishly sappy grin rather than his trademark mischievous Cheshire gambit.

She felt her heart drum against her rib cage at the seamless shift into fluff. Sass she could deal with in a rapid back and forth, but genuine, honest to god tenderness was outside of her capabilities. Her cheeks instantly lit up, only amplified by the light polluted city around them. “We barely know each other, what could you have  _ possibly _ thought up?” 

Chat gracefully lifted himself to sit on the balcony, leaning his chin in his hands as he replied. “Where I’d like to take you tonight for our little get-together.”

Whether it was the directness of his words or the adrenaline coursing through her veins, Marinette found herself shifting a bit in his gaze. Not uncomfortably, but for fear her internal squeals would become external squeals if she didn’t expel the energy in little doses of squirming. “Where did you have in mind, exactly?” she tread lightly on the words, searching his face for subtle clues.

“A little church I know; just some sightseeing,” he dismounted from the balcony, offering a clawed hand to the girl. 

* * *

 

Marinette looked over the city from a familiar, yet completely alien perch. ‘A little church I know’ entailed (to Marinette at least) an unknown chapel halfway into the countryside, at least somewhat discreet. Instead, he had brought her to the medieval masterpiece of a cathedral that was Notre Dame. The site wasn’t unknown to her, especially at night, but seeing it without the comfort of a yo-yo or a spandex suit to catch her, it was like a bizarre alternate universe, one without a Ladybug.

“I can visit this place anytime I want, why bring me here on our special night out?” Marinette’s heart pounded as she looked over the edge to the streets below. Though, her curiosity trumped her anxiety.

“That’s true, but I doubt a tour guide would let you ring the bell,” he answered coolly, following her gaze over the edge. Something about that fatal drop was comforting to him, maybe the chance of being caught by a certain beetle helped him abandon the fear. That or he’d never been out without a shot of adrenaline coursing through his body to create fear.

“You’re kidding,” she whipped back to face him, eyebrows knit in disbelief. “There’s no way…”

“Never say never,” he winked, an evil smirk forming. Searching the streets below for a snooping passerby, Chat confirmed their secret outing would go unnoticed. “Come on,” he extended a hand to Marinette, eyes searching her puzzled expression for a firm yes. Frozen in place, she could do little more than think. On the one paw, she could reject his offer (how she'd get down was to be determined), on the other claw, she didn't have much to lose. She took his hand, orphaning all doubt at the house of uncertainty. Chat made quick work of getting to the ground ( _ miraculously _ not dropping Marinette during a jump from one buttress to another), and set a rather windblown princess before the doors to the cathedral. He gestured to the door, “After you.”

“I’m flattered, but it’s locked,” she approached the door, sure that it would halt her advance. Instead, the doors parted effortlessly at her gentle touch, two guards which allowed the princess and her knight access to a (previously unreachable) hideaway for the night. Chat shot her another smile, starting an unspoken conversation between green and blue.  _ ‘You didn't.’ ‘I did.’ ‘This couldn't possibly be planned.’ ‘It was planned.’ ‘I'm not going in there.’ ‘You already are, whoops.’ _

With a final defeated huff, Marinette found herself in the cathedral. Very little light illuminated the space, save for the few streams coming in from the windows. Blinding cyan and gold splattered brilliantly against the stained glass, remnants of which could be seen as faint halos of light on nearly every pew. Marinette took a sharp breath, eyes scouring the feast of inspiration set before her. Her feline companion stood idly by as her mind worked at break-neck speed to absorb as much information as it could. Having spent an eternity analyzing the complex mechanisms of everything that is, was, and ever will be Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Adrien knew when she was collecting details to (quite literally) draw from in her designs. Ample space and silence admiring her gave him time to concoct a plan to tear her from the light show.

“As lovely as the view is, you don't come to a church for sight seeing,” he spread his arms towards the heavens (though they should be pointed to hell). “One comes to seek god. So why don't we give him a ring?”

Marinette wasn't sure if the joke hit her right. Somewhere between the melodramatic presentation and ironic nature of the presenter forced a laugh out of her, in sincerity or out of ridiculousness she couldn't quite tell. Either way, it brought a smile to her face and butterflies to her stomach. “Right, and the  _ only _ way to do that is by ringing the holy bells. Instead of, you know, through worship and prayer.”

“After breaking the third, fifth, and eighth commandments, the prayer line seems to be busy,” he shrugged, undeterred by an unresponsive god. “This is sort of my last attempt at receiving redemption, though,” his tone shifted from humble mistake to purposeful sin, “I was never interested in the faith.”

The air grew still between them; a church may have been a symbol of the holiest of places, but it was just as much fair game for flirting as any building. Not that it bothered Marinette all that much, she could have just as easily declined his offer as accepted it. Notre Dame was just a church after all.

“Well, it's getting late, we should hurry before he goes to bed,” she dropped into a slinky voice, hiding the excitement she truly felt. With an extended hand, she waited for her knight to whisk her away, being the princess he made her out to be. Chat accepted, deciding on the most “scenic” route to the bells. Staircases, (miraculously) unlocked doors and dark corridors brought them to the end of their unholy expedition. Eleven copper giants loomed before them, daunting, yet incredibly vulnerable to vandalism. Another silent conversation started with Chat’s inquisitive eyes.  _ ‘Which one?’  _ Marinette looked at the various bells, before her eyes settled on one in particular,  _ ‘The big one.’ ‘Emmanuel; nice choice.’ _  With a conspiratorial grin, Chat motioned for her to approach the dormant bass, eyes hiding the secret to awakening the bell (and most of the people nearby).

Marinette expected some hammer or the ropes used by Quasimodo, but found a system of chains and motors instead. “So do we push it or…?” she turned back to Chat, puzzled.

“Kind of,” he presented her his baton, a curious set of buttons lined the screen. “They're rung with digital motors, so press away.” She snatched up the new controls, delighted to be the nuisance of Paris for a change. For a moment her hands hesitated, mind weighing the consequences of slightly ruining one of the church’s most beloved treasures. All caution was thrown out when the key blinked with a vibrant green light. The enticing neon glow immediately snuffed out by Marinette’s eager finger set off a string of events. A motor hum, chains rattling, and finally, a hearty bellow from Emmanuel. Each swing sent a giddy shiver down her spine, though the ring itself forced her hands to her ears.

Chat joined her, boxing his own ears while beaming like a school girl; his princess was happy. Not because she had accomplished some great feat through hard work, but because  _ he  _ made her happy. Sure, it was through “““““ _ “harmless _ ””””””” vandalism, but it made her giggle and smile brighter than the lights illuminating the church. An otherwise mundane Wednesday evening became a scene from a B-rate romantic comedy, not that either of them would complain, their lives always did have the potential for such  a cliche plot. A fashion design student and her thief-in-the-night lover’s romp through Paris did have a certain Hallmark seal of approval.

Their moment of peak cliche bullshit ended nearly as soon as it began. Police sirens nearing the building cut the affair short, and between Chat rerouting the controls away from his ( _ very traceable _ ) baton and sneaking out with a lovely lady, it was apparent the date was planned to  _ about _ the ringing of the bells--and, nothing else. 

Back on the balcony, the pair caught their breath in silence for what seemed like an eternity. Marinette glanced at her  _ purr _ tner in  _ chime _ , eyes taking in every detail from the adrienaline coursing behind his expression to the way his chest heaved with every breath. If she had been ogling, he made no immediate notice of it. His eyes doing a bit of their own “ _ sight-seeing _ ”, his countenance prideful and exuberant as a muffled, enraged shouting was heard in the distance. 

Chat glanced back to her, lungs cooled by the night air, though his hopeless romanticism burned brighter. He took her hand, bowing before her as a knight ought to. “Tonight was wonderful.” A snort only fanned the flames as he whispered by her ear, “I hope your time was just as fun,  _ Purrincess _ .” The low purr made her heart pound with every passing moment, and it didn’t help he had cupped her chin in the process. By instinct or as a result of watching too many romcoms, she closed her eyes and waited for a kiss. However, instead of the warm touch of her stray’s lips, she was met with the cold night air once more. She scanned the balcony, only to find Robbing Hood standing on the iron railing. “Gentlemen don’t kiss on the first date,” he winked, shit-eating grin spreading with every word. “But maybe next time,” he blew her a saucy kiss before disappearing into the shadowed labyrinth of rooftops and chimneys.

* * *

 

The next morning went about as smoothly for Marinette as she’d assumed it would: not at all. While managing to look decent  _ and _ catching the metro on time, her performance in the studio was less than sub-par. Mr. Agreste had gotten fed up enough to send her home with Adrien, who’d fallen asleep during a fitting, to rest for the morning. Although, Marinette planned to sketch out at least one design before even thinking of rest. The pair was escorted to the Agreste Manor by the Gorilla, who was as disinterested and unphased as ever.

Adrien suggested a lazy marathon of something fluffy and American to recharge their batteries, to which Marinette agreed. Cuddled (very much platonically) on the couch, she began a new page in her sketch pad, but the pencil seemed to grow heavier with every stroke. It didn’t help that Adrien’s warm embrace became more comfortable by the second. A final effort to keep her eyes open proved fruitless, and she was halfway to a dream. Her model subject smiled softly, happy she was receiving the sleep he’d so selfishly taken from her the night prior. Gingerly removing the abandoned sketch pad and pencil from her hands, he set the materials to the closest surface he could reach without disturbing her: the floor. However, he too found the position inviting enough to rest his own eyes. Another episode began just as his mind collapsed in on itself.

“ _ Once upon a time, in a mythical place called Cape Kennedy… _ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We finally updated wooooo.
> 
> More Marichat. 
> 
> Thank Psyche for her contributions they make this fic like 10x more memey.


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